The Quest For Mortality
by kiarazazachodu
Summary: Roy Mustang, a talented young alchemist, is recruited to be tested for State Alchemist Certification after participating in a summer program at the Military Academy. Little does he know that he is to be tested and assigned to Damia Elric, a Water Alchemist with a dark past and her own ambitions and reasons for being in the State Military. A bit AU, with combinations of FMA and FMAB
1. Fire and Water

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA, FMAB, or any of the characters in this story besides any OCs.

Author's Note: I love receiving reviews and criticism so feel free to make comments! Hope you like it! :)

Roy Mustang sat across the desk from Fuhrer Bradley himself. It was an honor, but he was not surprised to have been one of the recruitees from the Military Academy Summer Program. After all, if they were seeking young alchemists to enlist, who would be better? Roy was gifted in Fire Alchemy and was trained by one of the greatest. No one else had such a profile. In his mind, he was guaranteed one of the State Alchemist positions, so he tried to hide the smugness on his face as Fuhrer Bradley read over his paperwork.

The room was silent, with only the sound of Bradley turning a page or the occasional footsteps passing by the office. Roy's mind began to wander as he waited for the next directions of the State Alchemist Enlisting procedure. He was now beginning to fixate himself on exactly how well Bradley could see or read with an eye patch over his left eye. The thoughts amused him, and made him silently laugh to himself.

"Fire Alchemy," Bradley said. "By the scores from the summer program, you seem to be very talented. I think you're worth being tested for one of the State Alchemist positions. We could use more powerful young soldiers around here." He smiled. "Enemies tend to underestimate youth in the military."

"Thank you, Fuhrer," Roy said, even though in his mind he was thinking "Of course I'm talented."

"Eighteen years old and already going into the military," Bradley continued. He looked up from Roy's paperwork, set the papers down before him on the desk, and folded his hands. "What brings you here, Mr. Mustang?"

Roy smiled proudly as the thought of his goals passed through his mind. "I want to protect the citizens of our country."

"Well, that's a very noble goal, Mr. Mustang," Bradley said with a smile. "I think I know just who to assign you to. I have a talented young State Alchemist here, a new Colonel who could use someone like you to supervise. She'll test your abilities and if you pass, you'll be in her unit."

Yes, Bradley thought, hiding his true malice. This accomplishes two things: Giving Damia Elric a sacrifice to manipulate and testing her management skills at the same time. Dante's been waiting for this for five years now.

Bradley glanced towards the door. "Now where's Elric when you need her?" he asked himself out loud. "I know she takes this route. I'll phone her office if I can't call her in here in a few minutes. I'd like you two to meet right now if possible."

"All right," Roy replied. His mind began to wander between the thought of miniskirts and the sinking feeling that Colonel Elric would have a strict disposition mirroring that of his friend Riza Hawkeye and her mother.

Fuhrer Bradley stood from his desk and approached his door. He twisted the knob to open it just slightly, preparing to open it wider and call in Damia upon seeing her through the glass pane. Sure enough, not too much more than a minute had passed before he spotted his prey. Oh, how great it was to be Fuhrer and know the exact schedule of your partner-in-crime's daughter.

The corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk before he opened the door and ordered, "Elric, get over here!"

Roy twisted his head towards the door to see a pretty, tall blonde girl in her early-to-mid-twenties reluctantly enter the office. She shut the door behind her and followed Fuhrer Bradley to his desk. Roy felt his stomach sink from the vibes he received from the girl who was Colonel Elric. Even though she did not even look at him, he could sense that she was, perhaps, a cold and ambitious young woman who felt she had better things to do with her time than be a "dog of the military".

"No need to sit down, Elric, as you'll be leaving shortly," Bradley said. "You are aware that we are recruiting new State Alchemists, I assume?"

"Yes, Fuhrer," she replied with a bland, subtly irritated voice. "It's the riot of displeasure amongst us all."

"Well then," Bradley sat down at his desk and folded his hands. "Just as you were assigned to General Armstrong, I feel it is about time that you are assigned the same task. This is Roy Mustang." He gestured to Roy, whom Damia Elric eyed with great distaste. "You are going to test Mr. Mustang's abilities and, if he passes the State Alchemist test, he will be under your unit."

"All right sir," Damia said. She was on the verge of literally biting her lip from saying "I thought eye-patch-man never used this office. Now I have to re-think my routes in this blasted base. Damn it.

Bradley smiled, holding back chuckles. "There is no need for displeasure, Elric. I think you are about to have a lot of fun." He paused. "Mr. Mustang here uses Fire Alchemy."

Damia burst out laughing, followed by her laughter being joined by chuckles from Fuhrer Bradley. "Is this a gift?" she asked, the tone of her voice now excited and even jovial.

After composing himself, Bradley responded with, "I think you deserve something nice for all of your research and abilities, Elric. So yes, you may think of Mustang here as a congratulatory gift for your promotion to Colonel."

A spark of impish meanness flashed in Damia's eyes. "I'll take Mustang to my office and process his paperwork right away, Fuhrer." She did not even look at Roy before she added, "Follow me, Mustang," and left the room.

Roy got up from his chair and followed, both confused and insulted at the laughter. How could he be a joke with his scores being what they were? After all of the work he had put in training and learning Fire Alchemy, how could he be a joke?

"Colonel, why were you and Fuhrer Bradley laughing?" he asked with a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

Without even glancing back at him as they walked down the hall towards her office, Damia replied with, "I use water."

This is a lie, Roy thought. His teacher had told him why Fire Alchemy was the greatest and most powerful form of alchemy around and that was because very few people, if anyone, used Water Alchemy. He was informed of the dangers of Water Alchemy, a technique where no transmutation circle was necessary due to the usage of water particles in the air and even in one's own body. Because of this, many alchemists died trying to learn it, usually vaporizing themselves in the process. His teacher's exact words were that in order for there to be a Water Alchemist, one must not only be truly gifted in the art of Water Alchemy, but be insane enough to attempt learning the skills.

"That's not possible," he growled under his breath.

They had reached Colonel Elric's office. Damia stopped at the door and placed her hand on the doorknob before turning to Roy. She casually shrugged.

"Just wait then," she said. She looked down towards Roy's hands to see his gloves, clean and white with a red transmutation circle elegantly etched onto each glove. She snickered. "Ah, little Fire Boy still needs a circle."

Roy wanted to snap his fingers and send sparks at her head.

Damia opened the door to her office, turning her back to Roy once again. "Well, come on," she said as she entered. "Let's schedule a time to play."


	2. The Next Morning

The morning of the test, Damia was greeted by laughter. She walked into her office as usual, to have most of her unit burst out in laughter at the sight of her. To no surprise, the culprits were Lieutenants Breda and Havoc, while Lieutenant Falman simply quietly sat at his desk.

"I heard you got a twerp to test!" Breda exclaimed while stuffing his usual morning bratwurst and sauerkraut sandwich in his mouth.

"All right, Colonel!" Havoc added with a sarcastic salute. A cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth, bobbing with the movement of his lips at every spoken word.

Damia said nothing and walked to her desk in the back of the room. She considered going into her private area, a very small room behind her main desk which she used for brainstorming and more classified paperwork, but saw no reason to since in an hour she would be summoned to test Roy Mustang. In all honesty, she did not care if Breda and Havoc spent the whole morning laughing and mocking her circumstances, as long as they completed their work and completed it to all satisfactory standards. This was never an issue, which is why Damia quickly gained the reputation as one of the most lenient Senior Officers one could imagine.

"It won't be too bad, Damia," Falman said. "You know how the tests are arranged and since Fuhrer Bradley paired the testee with you, I'm sure he's not that bad."

Damia sat down at her desk and took a sip of coffee. "The test is a joke, Falman, it's if the kid passes and I'm stuck with him. I can't even see how this test is fair but I'm not complaining since," she smiled. "it's a comedy routine for me."

"What does that mean?" Havoc asked. He leaned forward in his chair and put down the pin-up magazine he was looking at. It was definitely odd that Damia did not seem to mind the test, since she was one of the officers most against the State Alchemist youth recruit.

Damia took out an apple from her bag, wiped it on her jacket, and bit into it before answering the question with a full mouth, "The kid uses fire."

An eruption of laughter from Breda and Havoc flooded the office. The commotion was so loud that if each office was not equipped with sound-proof walls that the laughter would be heard out in the hallway.

"Now, now," Falman, the oldest and most mature member of the unit, said, trying to quiet them all down. "Don't underestimate the young man." He turned to Damia, who sat looking over the day's itinerary while crunching into her apple. "There may be a variable in this Fire Alchemist that you don't expect, Damia. My advice is to not take him so lightly."

"You heard that from my father when he worked here, right Falman?" She said, not glancing up from her papers as she slouched over the top of her desk. "I heard the same thing all my life, so don't underestimate my ability to overestimate or underestimate or correctly-estimate my friends, foes, and rivals and how they may, or may not, estimate me with any sense of validity."

Her response left the room with two dumbstruck soldiers trying to piece together her choices of vocabulary, along with Falman knowing that this was "code" for "I don't want to end up talking or thinking about my father, so let me be and do your work."

Yes, it was always best not to mention Hoenheim Elric. Any mentioning of him would either cause Damia to crack down on inter-office attitude until she got bored with not joking around or cause her to send a few splashed of water at the head of the one mentioning Hoenheim, depending on her mood. The rumor was that the young Colonel was "sold" to the State Military as a teenager by her father due to the fact that she had a natural talent for Water Alchemy. However, this was merely a rumor and nobody was going to dare ask Damia herself if this tidbit of information was true or not. Falman, having briefly known Hoenheim about a decade ago when Hoenheim was doing some research for the State, could not say necessarily that he seemed to be the type of man to "sell" a child. Nevertheless, there was an obvious unspoken conflict between Damia and her father that was best to remain silent.

The hour passed slowly but surely, as they all were anxiously waiting to watch the test. Upon the time approaching, Damia's phone rang, with Fuhrer Bradley being on the other end of the line to tell her to get to the dueling arena. She silently and casually got up from her chair and exited the office. Once she left, Breda and Havoc began laughing again, slapping each other high-fives, and making bets on how long the test would last.

"I give the new kid five minutes," Breda said as he stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out some bills.

"Nah, I say the Colonel's bored," Havoc replied slyly. "I do environmental work here, remember? The air's moist enough for her to really be a tease. Fifteen." He slammed a pack of cigarettes on Breda's desk.

"Hey, I don't smoke. I don't want your damn cigs." Breda said in a friendly snarling manner. "Cough up some dough, Jean."

Havoc chuckled. "What I mean is, you win, I buy you a bratwurst sandwich; I win, you buy me cigs."

Breda smirked. "Make it two bratwurst sandwiches."

"Fine," Havoc said with a flip of his hand.

"Deal!"


	3. The Test

Roy stood at the edge of the dueling arena, staring at the piece of land in front of him as the stands began to fill with one blue uniform after the next. At least he remained to not be visible by the other soldiers, since the way the arena was designed allotted an area at the edge of each side for the dueler to stand in private while still scanning their terrain. It was a dimly-lit grey area which was underneath some of the first-tier front-row seats: a brilliant design except for one's concentration potentially being broken by the sound of above footsteps. Roy figured that the purpose of the footsteps was to be sure that the tested alchemist had the ability to focus under irritating circumstances.

He still did not know whether or not to believe that he would be sparring with a Water Alchemist. It just simply did not seem probable to him; not to mention that Elric definitely gave the impression in his mind of being the type of person to stretch the truth in order to set someone aback.

She's just waiting to see me freeze up, He thought. Well, I'll show her.

He tugged on his gloves and, with the upmost control, snapped his fingers a few times to warm up the material. Colonel Elric's mocking words of "Little Fire Boy still needs a circle" ran through his mind and boiled his blood.

That's right, He thought to himself, now smirking with the prospect of revenge in his mind. The whole military can see how tough you really are. Make a fool out of her, Roy. That can be her promotion gift from Fuhrer Bradley.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the baby-faced balloon-head," came a taunting, mocking sneer.

Roy turned around with a sinking feeling drooping through his body. He knew who this voice belonged to. His stomach immediately turned to lead. Behind him was exactly who he thought it was: a sly, lanky young man with piercing grey eyes and long, fine black hair slicked back into a thin ponytail. To Roy's great disdain, this young man was dressed in a military uniform, showing that the apparently was already tested for a spot as a State Alchemist and passed. He knew this taunting alchemist almost throughout his entire life. First, they attended grade school together and then continued to remain in each other's presences during the Military Academy Summer Program. Yes, he all too well knew the sneaky, dishonest young man obsessed with explosives named Zolf Kimblee.

"What are you doing here?" Roy asked flatly.

Kimble coolly inched like a snake closer to Roy. "I passed the State Alchemist test two days ago," he said with a slithering smile on his face. "I'm under the supervision of Brigadier General Basque Grand. He's a tough guy, balloon-head. He'd scare someone like you away in a second."

"I don't care if you passed, Kimblee. Go sit in the stands with the other soldiers."

"Well, you're not very thankful of a person," Kimblee scoffed. "I told the higher-ups what good buddies we were in school and that I wanted to wish luck to my good ol' pal Roy Mustang." He made a "tsk tsk" sound with his teeth. "And I do want to wish you luck. Luck that you won't get drowned by the Tidal Alchemist." To Roy's silence, Kimblee added, "We all know who you're sparring with, balloon-head. Brigadier General Grand has given me the best initiation by spilling the dirt on Tidal. She's a cold-hearted assassin." His last sentence was spoken with a trailing teasing tone. "Better release that hot air from your skull…"

"Go to the stands and leave me alone," Roy said with no emotion in his voice.

Kimblee coldly chuckled as he backed away, followed by one last comment before leaving Roy in peace. "Grand says Tidal will give you one minute. Me? I say thirty seconds."

Roy's stomach sank again. He was beginning to suspect that colonel Elric truly did master the art of Water Alchemy and that he was merely a joke between her and Fuhrer Bradley. Or maybe there was hope – that this lie about Water Alchemy was what was said to all tested for a State Alchemist position. However, that theory was continuing to stretch the "scare plot" on new recruitees too much and was obviously something of fiction. Roy sighed. Perhaps it was because he was a baby-faced eighteen-year-old that Fuhrer Bradley saw him as the perfect game for Elric, a soldier with whom he obviously had a more causal "boss-to-employee" relationship with.

As the arena's stands were becoming almost entirely filled with the color blue, Roy knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the test would commerce. He looked ahead of him, focusing on the space on the opposite end of the arena, waiting for the blonde-haired Colonel to emerge. Soon enough, a door opened at the other side and out came Colonel Elric with Fuhrer Bradley beside her, whispering something into her ear before he disappeared behind the door leading to the first-tier stands.

Roy shook his head. Yes, they're friends, He thought. That explains her position. Damn nepotism.

A blare exploded from the intercom, echoing throughout the arena and quieting down any talking or commotion amongst the viewing soldiers. Roy looked towards the left side of the arena to see a man in his early twenties with short brown hair and glasses standing with a microphone. The man had an impishness about him in his manner, judging by the way he stood on the sideline combined with the teasing happy-go-lucky expression on his face. He looked familiar. Roy figured that he probably saw the man at the Military Academy Summer Program but that they never met.

"Well, aren't we all looking nice today?" the man said lightheartedly over the microphone. He looked over towards Colonel Elric and gave an informal salute. "Hi, Damia! You seem to be looking fine this morning!"

The watching soldiers' reactions were a combination of laughing and groaning before a voice from the audience yelled, "Cut to the chase, Hughes!"

The man identified as Hughes snickered. "Sorry about that," he said before continuing his announcement. "Today we will be testing another potential State Alchemist!"

The crowd booed, with some stray comments such as "I thought Kimblee was the last one." and "Drown him, Damia!" being added to the mix.

"Now, now, quiet down, quiet down," Hughes said with seriousness in his voice before continuing on his announcement with a jovial exclamation. "All right, let's do this! Our tester today is the Tidal Alchemist, Colonel Damia Elric!"

The crowd cheered. A couple of men's voices chanted "Unit 66A! Unit 66A!" before Hughes continued.

"And for our potential State Alchemist, we have Roy Mustang who uses Fire Alchemy!"

Some in the audience laughed, however, most appeared as if they had been hit over the head for the thirtieth time with the fact that the State Alchemist test would be that of "Water versus Fire". Roy rolled his eyes. He just wanted to take the test and have it done with. It seemed that the anticipation and waiting was going to be drawn out as much as possible in order to cause unnecessary stress.

I know what game you're playing and I'm sick of it, He thought.

"Okay, we all know how this goes," Hughes said. "Once I get in the stands and toot the horn –" He paused. "Wait for the horn!" He paused again. "After the horn, then you begin!"

The arena was filled with silence as Hughes walked over to the end where Damia stood and disappeared behind the entrance door. Roy stood awaiting the horn's tooth, his right hand already prepared to snap and ignite a flame at any moment. Damia, on the other hand, stood calm and collected at her end of the sparring terrain. She looked almost relaxed as she scanned the air about her for usable atoms and molecules to extract water from to either create a water-based attack or conduct electricity.

A few minutes or so passed before a loud, blaring horn was blown. Now was Roy's chance. At the second the noise entered his ears he snapped his fingers and ignited a piercing bolt of fire towards Damia. Damia used her arm to sleekly draw a dome over her body, graciously allowing her arm to glide through the air. When Roy's flame was about to hit her, it suddenly bumped into a barrier and sizzled into nothing on the spot.

What? Roy thought. How is this Water Alchemy?

He tried to send flames at his foe again, this time running toward her to get a closer hit. However, his efforts were still in vain, as all Damia had to do was extend her arm out in front of her to continue the barrier's solidity. Every flame or spark, as incredible as it was, that Roy sent at her merely fizzled at the collision spot with the barrier just as before.

Damia did nothing else but stand at her spot and re-strengthen her means of defense. Her face was stoic and stayed. Not one smirk twisted on her lips and she obviously was not going to do anything more than repel the fire attacks.

"Is this all you've got?" Roy yelled. "Do you plan to just stand there?"

Damia remained silent.

There's no point, She thought. There's no pride in winning an unfair fight. And besides, I don't want Fuhrer Eye-patch to see too much.

Roy was about to attempt an attack once gain until Fuhrer Bradley's voice erupted over the intercom.

"Stop the test!" he yelled. His voice had a tone of a forced controlled anger. Silence spread over the arena. State Alchemist tests were never stopped in this manner. Not one soldier in the audience had ever witnessed one where the test was halted out of an apparent anger and dissatisfaction from Bradley.

Neither Damia nor Roy seemed to know what to expect. Both stood frozen in their tracks awaiting a signal as to how to proceed while the arena's silence thickened the air like a dust storm.

Damia heard a door slam behind her. She turned her head to see Fuhrer Bradley storm though the sparring terrain's entrance door on her side of the arena. Knowing that this could not be good, she turned her head back to face Roy and puffed out a breath of air.

"Elric!" Bradley yelled. "Make it real for him! Stop being nice!"

His voice echoed louder in Damia's ears as he grew closer and closer, eventually standing beside her with a vicious miasma emitting from his aura.

"Damia Elric," Bradley snarled softly once he stood beside her. "I know you can do more than this." His voice then lightened, and he continued with a calm malice, almost reveling in the words he was about to speak. "You should want to do your best, Damia. This is alchemy, the little game you played with your lifelong friend." The cruelty in Bradley's voice hit its acme when he spoke his final words. "Make your brother proud, Damia. Perform a show for Bernard."

Damia froze, her eyes widening and not blinking a bit. Bernard! She thought. Is Mom going to vanish you?

Fuhrer Bradley coldly snickered. He had gotten the exact reaction he wanted out of his prey. "Put on a nice show for us all," he said, pausing before finishing his sentence. "Colonel Elric."

Damia nodded, almost like a robot as she uttered a "Yes, Fuhrer". Her brother's face flashed in her mind and she prayed that he was safe and would remain safe. Her mind raced, thinking of the Philosopher's Stone Bernard and she both coveted, followed by the haunting images of their mother. It was not until she heard "Continue the fight!" commanded from the stands that she snapped back to reality.

Before her eyes a fast jolt of fire lunged toward her. The split-second delay in her awareness gave Roy Mustang the chance to attack first. Damia quickly waved her arm about her to create another barrier. This time, instead of remaining still and allowing the flame attack to disintegrate upon impact, she thrust her hand forward when her barrier was hit, causing Roy's attack to bounce off of her defense and hurl itself back at him.

Roy inhaled a short gasp of breath. Not wasting any more time, he clapped his hands and slammed them on the ground to create a wall of earth to protect himself. He remained squatted to the ground until the flame blasted through the wall, then sprung to his feet, snapped both of his fingers, and sent a large, burning twister of fire at Damia. He had to find some way to break through her barrier. Otherwise, there was no chance to even come close to hitting her.

A smile formed on Damia's face. The twister of fire was, in fact, very impressive. She could feel the power emitting from it as it encompassed her defense and all the same, the flames were very pretty. The colors of red, orange, and yellow blended together with such finesse. The fires were bright and were only intensified in splendor by the angle of the sun. Damia thrust both of her hands in front of her to throw the attack back at Roy. The attack held so much power that despite the fact that she based her barrier off of the water molecules in the air to create a dome of electricity about her, she had to use both of her hands to repel it.

If he wasn't using fire, he would have shattered my barrier, Damia thought. Good for you, kid.

Roy once again clapped his hands and hit the ground. This time, he created a cylindrical fortress around his body instead of simply a wall. He expected that his attack could very well fail and be sent back at him once again. He was running out of ideas. He had no idea what to try next, except to continue sending flame after flame in hope of weakening Damia.

"Good job, Mustang," Damia said after Roy's fortress was shattered in part by the attack. "If you weren't using fire, you would have had me."

Damn it, Roy thought as his vision became clouded by the dust from the destroyed earth walls. I can't see! Where is she?

"I'll end an unfair fight here." He heard Damia say before all of a sudden, a tidal wave of water burst through the dust and soaked Roy, sending him rolling with the tide to the edge of the stadium.

"You have talent, Mustang," Damia said. "But with the wrong elements against you, you're useless. My suggestion – always have a partner."

Roy was about to respond before he heard Fuhrer Bradley's voice.

"Wonderful idea, Elric," Bradley said with a smile as he walked to the center of the sparring terrain. "Since Mr. Mustang will be in your unit and the two of you have a fire-and-water balance, I think we've found his partner."

"Me, Fuhrer?" Damia asked without a second thought.

Oh, no, not her, Roy thought. He stood up from the corner he was pushed to, his clothes completely wet and drooping heavily on his body. He began to make his way towards the center of the sparring terrain while a part of him simply wanted to sulk in the corner at the implication of being partnered with Colonel Elric.

"Yes, Elric," Bradley said with a satisfied smile. "I think you and Mustang will make a fine pair." He then took out of his jacket pocket a nicely-folded square comprised of maybe three or four papers and handed it to Damia. "You're about to have quite a bit of work ahead of you. But, I think a few new additions to your unit will make Unit 66A one of the greatest in the country. I'd like to see you give Olivier Armstrong a run for her money."

Damia took the folded papers and stuck them in her pocket. "Of course, sir," she responded, holding back a sigh of reluctant obedience.

"Good," Bradley said. He shifted his attention to Roy, who was now standing a few feet away from Damia. "Nice work, Mustang. Lucky for you, the warmer temperature today must have made Elric's little typhoon quite refreshing. Now, as your first job as Elric's partner, you can help her clean up the little mess you both made."

"Yes, sir," Roy said, not knowing what else he could say under the circumstances.

"Excellent," Fuhrer Bradley responded with a clap of his hands. "Take your time and make the terrain exactly as you left it before the fight began. The whole day is yours. Bond. Get to know one another. You never know when the two of you might be sent out on a mission together." He directed his final comment to Damia. "I'll leave your unit with First Lieutenant Hughes, so don't rush the clean-up. I want my terrain perfect. If you're out here, you won't have to cope with Lieutenant Havoc puffing cigarettes in the office, since you have so graciously allowed him to smoke on the job. You could use the fresh air, my dear."

With that, Roy and Damia were left alone. By the time they were to begin their task, the arena's stands were nearly empty. It was quiet. Silence was soon to spread over the area like a mist, only growing thicker and denser if both partners refused to communicate with each other.

Damia sighed and sat down. She then looked up at Roy, who continued to stand sulkily. "May as well relax. We have to wait for your gloves to dry before we begin. Judging by the material, it shouldn't take all too long." To Roy's silence she added, "We should dry out everything first and then even the terrain. Fuhrer Bradley was right – this could take all day."

"Thanks a lot," Roy said as he sat down.

"For what?" Damia asked as she began to unfold the square of papers she was given. "You passed the test. Bradley's angry with me; that's why we have to clean this up. Usually Major Armstrong fixes the sparring terrain." She snickered. "He doesn't mind because it gives him an excuse to take his shirt off and show off his muscles."

"His what?" Roy asked, relieved that Damia told him that he passed the test and that no one was angry or dissatisfied with him.

"You'll meet Alex soon enough," she replied, brushing off the conversation as she began to read over the papers. A few seconds of silence passed before she groaned out of disgust. "Another one!?" she exclaimed. She then turned to Roy. "Can you believe this? Bradley's having me test another person – and this one isn't even an alchemist!"

"Well, who is it?" Roy asked, uninterested and only saying something to continue the conversation and pass the time before his gloves dried.

Shaking her head and looking up at the sky, Damia folded the papers back along the creases and stuffed them in her pants' pocket. "This Riza Hawkeye. I'm supposed to test some girl with a gun while I'm an alchemist. I'm scheduled for tomorrow." She sighed and plopped her head in her hands. "And all I want to do is go to my office and work on more important things … like playing darts … they help me concentrate on the brainstorming work I have to do …"

Roy smirked, trying to hold back sniggering. He knew Riza Hawkeye relatively well, if not quite well. It was her father who taught him the art of Fire Alchemy. He knew how talented Riza was with shooting and he also knew the severe determination of her personality. Roy figured that perhaps, as partners, that he should consider informing Damia of Riza's talents. However, he very much so wanted to see Damia fail upon testing the daughter of his teacher, to the extent of becoming excited to see his new partner's ego be shot through by one of Riza's bullets.

"She's really good," Roy said, figuring that this would suffice as an acceptable out-of-military-duty warning for Damia. "Her father taught me alchemy, so I know Riza in passing."

Damia looked over at Roy and shrugged. "Perhaps," she said, reluctantly remembering her earliest days at the State Military under the supervision of Olivier Armstrong. She gritted her teeth and shook her head at the memories of Olivier violently pointing her sword at her. "Yes, we truly have some talented non-alchemists in our Armed Forces," she added. "Hopefully this Hawkeye girl will cause my unit to rival Olivier's …"

"Fuhrer Bradley mentioned that Olivier, and now you do too, Colonel," Roy said, this time truly curious as to what he was about to ask. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Just call me Damia," Damia replied with a smile, changing the subject. She then shifted her gaze toward Roy's gloves, which seemed to be almost dry. "Snap your fingers a few times to help dry those," she added as she stood up. "Well … let's get this overwith."


	4. Informing Riza

After a long day of drying, digging, and replacing dirt, Roy began to slowly make his way to where he lived at the Base Housing. He was extremely fatigued after the day, having been working nearly from sun-up to sun-down. His arms ached from the shoveling and mentally he was beyond overworked. It was a surprise just how much the State Alchemist test took a toll on one's psyche and the pre-test visit from Zolf Kimblee did not exactly help. To his surprise, the one who caused the least tension in his day was Damia. She provided him with someone to have at least somewhat interesting conversations with as they repaired the sparring terrain. Damia was well-traveled for her age, which intrigued Roy. It did make sense, though, since she was in the military. So despite the labor, the time passed relatively easily with her stories of living in a few different countries.

However, Roy still wanted his partner to meet her match against Riza Hawkeye. Stories of the southern beaches and eastern prairies could not make up for her previous taunting.

Roy was about to take a left toward the Men's Barracks before he heard a familiar voice.

"So did you pass?"

He looked to his right to see Riza Hawkeye, a blonde, hardened-faced girl of nineteen. She stood dressed in men's attire with her arms folded in front of her torso as she spoke.

"Yeah," Roy replied. He yawned. "I'm exhausted, though. Fuhrer Bradley made Damia and I clean up the sparring terrain."

"Well, what did you expect?" Riza asked. "Surely, Fuhrer wasn't going to clean up the mess you made." She sighed. "I guess I'll be cleaning tomorrow. That's when I've been scheduled."

A corner of Roy's mouth twisted into an impish smirk. "Damia Elric's testing you, too."

"Yes, I've heard," she said, almost shaking her head as she spoke. "Fuhrer Bradley told me to expect water and electricity and reminded me to be sure and use the blank ammo so I wouldn't kill his best alchemist."

"She's his best?" he asked, receiving a sudden boost to his ego that he was partnered with Elric while Zolf Kimblee did not even get to spar with her.

"It's not a surprise, Roy. How many people are insane enough to risk vaporizing or electrocuting themselves in the name of alchemic ambition?"

Roy shrugged. Riza did have a point. Even Kimblee decided on only working with explosives rather than attempting to learn Water Alchemy.

"Well then, Riza," he began. "Since I did promise your father to protect you in exchange for his teaching –"

"I don't need help from a man," Riza interrupted with a biting tongue.

Roy yawned again. He obviously had taken the wrong approach. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he said, waving his hand in front of him as if to wipe away his previous comment. "Just – did Fuhrer Bradley tell you about Damia's barrier?"

Riza's face softened. "Her what?" she asked with intrigued eyes.

"Damia can protect herself with a barrier, probably by using electricity. And she can use alchemy to send your attack back at you."

Riza tapped her index finger to her lips. "Hmmm …" she began. "I think I heard my father mention that means of defense once." Her gaze shifted from Roy's face down to his knees as she thought. "I think I know what I can do with this. Thanks." She added before immediately turning around and walking away toward the Women's Barracks.

"Goodnight, Riza!" Roy called after her with a smile. He then softly chuckled to himself as he continued on his way to his dorm. "And congratulations on your new partner, Damia Elric!"


	5. Damia's In-and-Out Roommate

What a day, Damia thought as she took out her keys and opened the main door of her apartment building. As she made her way up the stairs to the second floor where she lived, she quickly planned in her mind her itinerary for the rest of the evening: to eat that boiled rutabaga she left sitting on the stove, munch on a few almonds, and relax to sleep with a beer. Damia licked her lips as she savored the thought of her favorite bock beer. She really craved some malt and hops after the day she had.

She twisted her key in the keyhole in the doorknob to open her apartment. Relieved to be home and away from the Military Base, Damia entered her small, humble studio apartment, flicked on the light, and shut the door behind her. She walked over to her futon, the only piece of furniture she owned besides the small table placed next to it, and began to undress. First, Damia untied and kicked off her boots before taking off her jacket and button-down shirt and hanging them in the small closet by the front door. She walked back over to the futon, remaining in her long red undershirt and uniform pants and began to take her pants off.

"Hey there, sis," she heard from the small kitchenette at the right side of the apartment after she finished pulling the navy blue uniform pants off of her legs.

Damia turned her head to see a suavely-handsome man in his mid-twenties with shoulder-length wavy blonde hair. He had grayish-blue eyes identical to hers and was perhaps an inch or so taller than she was. He wore a long plaid button-down flannel shirt and tight black leggings, obviously clothing which was borrowed from Damia's closet. In his hand he held a half-eaten raw leek.

Damia threw her pants at the man's head and spoke flatly. "Hi, Bernard,"

After being hit in the face by the flying pants, Bernard took a bite out of his leek and laughed. "Well, someone's feisty," he said in a normal tone before speaking in a teasing baby-talk voice. "Did someone have a bad day?"

Damia picked up her pants and tossed them onto the futon before walking past her brother to the pot of boiled rutabaga. She grabbed a spoon and began to eat it out of the pot.

"Why aren't you shape-shifted into a random solider and crashing at the Men's Barracks like you do most of the time?" she asked. "I told you; you have to be careful turning into me and coming to my apartment so my neighbors don't get suspicious."

"You've been living in this little box for four years and no one's said anything. Most of the building is filled with other soldiers Mr. Schmittler downstairs likes me because I bring him suet for his birds," Bernard said. His older sister had warned him about not looking suspicious more times than he could count without his head feeling ready to explode. "Anyway, the Men's Barracks reek to High Heaven today. You'd think somebody set off a stink bomb." He paused. "And no, it wasn't me. I may not like seeing some of those fat soldiers – like that Breda – but I'm not a moron."

"I bet it was that Kimblee," Damia said after slurping some rutabaga broth. She shook her head, opened the small refrigerator, and pulled out a can of beer with some almonds before taking her dinner to the futon and sitting down.

Bernard popped the bulb of the leek in his mouth and took out a can of beer for himself before joining his sister on the futon. "Kimblee?" he asked.

With a nod, Damia replied, "One of our new State Alchemists." She opened her can of beer and added, "I just tested another one today. And tomorrow …" She sighed. "Tomorrow I'm testing again. This time some gunslinger girl. They're all kids, Bernard. They're all about the age we were when we died."

"Where are all those people coming from?" he asked quietly.

"The story is they came from this summer session at the Military Academy," she replied. "Unfortunately, I have to take that as simply what we've all been told. Bradley could very well be lying or telling the truth. The paperwork on these people could very well be real or fake."

Bernard puffed out a sigh of air. "That's the problem with this damn country," he said. "It's run by Mommy Dearest through her little tentacles."

As the conversation jeered toward the subject of Fuhrer Bradley and her mother, Dante, Damia was reminded of the threat she was given earlier that day concerning her brother. She froze and slowly chewed the almond she popped in her mouth.

"Make your brother proud, Damia," Fuhrer Bradley's cold voice echoed in her memory. "Perform a show for Bernard …"

She wanted to hug her brother just because he was still alive but knew that she could not let on what she was told that afternoon. She could not risk Bernard becoming nervous and making a fatal mistake. It had been too long. It had been almost two hundred years since their quest for the Philosopher's Stone began after they attempted using the incomplete stone that their mother had been working on.

Neither of them could slip up now. Not after their second century of being Homunculi was drawing to an end …  
"Hey – are you okay?" Bernard's voice snapped her back to reality. He chuckled. "I thought I was the one allergic to nuts." He wagged his finger at his sister and said lightheartedly, "I know that's why you buy those almonds. All so you can have some food that I can't mooch off of you." He smiled before continuing in his normal tone of voice, "Not that I blame you."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," Damia said. Before Bernard could reply, she added, "Look, if you don't want to go to the Men's Barracks and don't feel like shifting into a girl to go to the Women's … just be discreet when you come in here. I'm sorry; I just can't emphasize that enough. I'm lucky I was able to get this little apartment since at least I have my own bathroom here."

I think it might be safer for both of us if he stays overnight with me than if he's being an imposter soldier on the base, She thought.

Bernard took another sip of beer. "There's something bothering you," he said. "I can read you like an open book. I'll assume it's thinking about these new people you're getting because if it isn't that I don't think I want to know what it is." He paused. "Anyway, from my observations nothing's different with Mom. She's still teaching alchemy to a few people. I gave you the list of names a couple years ago, remember? Nothing's different except I think one of her pupils had a baby. But I think that's completely trivial."

Damia finished her beer and yawned. "I probably should go to sleep since I've got to test again tomorrow," she said. "No update on the soul count?"

Bernard took her empty beer can and walked it to the garbage before going in a closet to pull out the mattress pad and pillows that he used when he spent the night. "Nope," he replied. "I can't say I like not overhearing anything about the stone. Makes me uneasy. You know, it's been months now since I heard Mom say even an implication about the stone. She's got something whirling in her mind and I don't like it."

Damia walked the empty pot used for the rutabaga to the sink and rubbed her eyes. "Can we talk more about this tomorrow?"  
"Please," he replied, relieved. He then added in a serious-toned jest, "If we mention Mommy one more time I may suspect she's the culprit of anything that goes bump in the night."

With a snicker, Damia shut off the light and lay down on the futon. "Goodnight."

There were a few beats of silence before Bernard asked, "Did you get that Pinot Noir yet? I told you it makes it easier for me to shape-shift."

"I'm tired, goodnight," she groaned as she nestled herself cozily in her blanket.

Shit, She thought. Why can't I ever remember that stupid wine when I go to the booze shop?


	6. Introduction

Damia actually did not know what to expect upon testing Riza Hawkeye. An alchemist sparring with a gun-shooter provided much different circumstances than if an alchemist sparred with a sword-wielder like Oliver Armstrong. As she walked the four blocks from her apartment to the base, she remembered the day that she was tested for her own State Alchemist Certification sparring with Olivier. Olivier, despite not being an alchemist, was not only lightning-fast but had some sort of untrained alchemic ability that allowed her to perform feats with her sword that the average person would be unable to do. For instance, she had used the energy around her blade to cause a surge of water-generated electricity sent from Damia to echo back at her. Also, Olivier was able to use energy from the strength of swinging the sword to send a ripping collaboration of darts of wind toward her foe. The question was if there could possibly be something about Riza Hawkeye that would mirror Olivier's odd untrained gift.

There must be something that made Eye-Patch pair her with me, Damia thought as she took a bite out of the rye bagels he took to eat on her way to work. But what could it be? Some sort of transmutation circle or spell engraved on Hawkeye's pistol that gives her the ability to defend herself in battle? Olivier's sword has markings on it – I swear that's an old Armstrong family bewitchment.

By the time Damia reached her office, Falman was already there; however, Breda and Havoc were nowhere to be seen. She glanced at the clock hanging to the left of the doorway. It was still ten minutes before when their shift began at eight o'clock. Breda and Havoc were never early on days they knew they had work to do, so Damia received a quick paperwork warning before she got to her desk and saw a thick stack of papers awaiting her. Since it was the end of the week, Hughes must have decided the day before to get a head-start on the next week's agenda.

"Hughes said that he was told you'd be training all next week, so he decided to give you the chance to complete what he had of new business," Falman said. "There's one of those dinner-for-two vouchers there, too."

Whenever there was a public test for a new soldier, the named victor of the fight received a voucher for two free large steaks at the Government Tavern. The Government Tavern was an elite fancy dining place located on the far West End of the base. It was a place normally reserved for important meetings concerning only the highest of Amestrian government officials. Since it was famous for its esteemed large steaks, the receiving of a dinner voucher was a prize usually highly coveted. However, Damia, not being a fan of red meat, found the prize to be no sort of coo. When she was tested for her State Alchemist Certification, she and Olivier both received a voucher after matching each other so equally that the arena stands had to be evacuated before Fuhrer Bradley commanded the fight to end. Those five years ago, she considered seeing if she could swap the two steaks for an equal-weight turkey for two. However, Damia decided to just give her voucher to Falman in order to bleed as much money as she could out of the Amestrian government, as the steaks would cost at least three times the amount per pound than the turkey. This instance was no different.

Damia took her voucher off her desk and walked over to Falman. "Have a nice night with your wife," she said.

"You and your brother still don't eat red meat, huh?" Falman asked with a bit of a chuckle.

"Nah," she replied. "He claims it interferes with his alchemy and it sits in my stomach like lead." She handed him the voucher. "Really, have a nice dinner with your wife." She smiled. "You deserve it after putting up with me for five years."

Falman laughed and accepted the gift. "Well, last time we had a wonderful night and gave some leftovers to my daughter and her husband. I'm sure they'd like another surprise."

"Great!" Damia exclaimed before she made her way back to her desk. She began looking through the stack of papers she had. On the top of the stack was her copy of Roy Mustang's State Alchemist Enlistee documentation along with the silver pocket-watch that was given to all State Alchemists.

Flame Alchemist, She thought after reading the title Fuhrer Bradley gave Roy. Couldn't he have thought of anything better for the guy? Flame … fire … burn … arson … I guess there's not much you can do with basing a title off of Fire Alchemy. I don't know why we need these stupid nicknames anyway.

A half-panting Roy burst through the door. "I'm not late, am I?" he asked.

"You're early, actually," Falman replied. He got up from his seat and introduced himself to Roy. "I'm Vato Falman, the biochem person at Unit 66A. Our other colleagues, Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda should be coming in soon."

Roy shook Falman's hand. "I'm Roy Mustang, State Alchemist," he said, not knowing exactly what to say.

"According to your papers, you'll be working as our unit's biotech guy," Damia said. "Come over here. I've got something for you."

Roy walked over to Damia's desk. "What's this biochem and biotech?"

"I'll explain everything to you next week when I train you," she replied. "It's Friday, I've got to test Hawkeye, and I have a lot to do so all runs smoothly next week while I'm not here in the office. We'll be doing all sorts of fun things for training."

Roy was not sure how "fun" this training would be for him if Damia instinctively used the term. She was probably being sarcastic anyway. It was easy for him to begin picking up on her dry, matter-of-fact sarcasm after spending the whole day talking with her while they fixed the sparring terrain.

Damia handed Roy his pocket-watch. "This is given to all State Alchemists. We're told it enhances our alchemic ability but personally I think that's a load of rubbish. But, nevertheless, we're stuck with them. The stupid things are part of our uniform."

Before Roy was able to respond, the office door swung open. In came Breda and Havoc, both of them munching on a jelly doughnut.

"Morning, Damia, Falman," Havoc said. He then spied Roy. "Oh yeah, new member."

"Yup," Damia said. She gestured to Havoc. "Roy, that's our environmental guy, Havoc." She pointed to Breda. "And our public relations guy, Breda." She put her hand on Roy's shoulder. "Roy Mustang. Flame Alchemist. Biotech." She glanced at the clock to see that it had just passed eight o'clock. "All right, well I'm heading early to the sparring terrain. Roy, feel free to ask the guys any questions you have. Hughes got you guys started on next week's agenda, so if I don't get to come back after testing, just continue on what you began."

"Why does Bradley keep making you test these people?" Breda asked with a tone obviously showing his disdain for the addition of Roy to the unit. "You'd think he'd make someone else do it since our unit's got him now." He pointed at Roy, who did not seem very happy about being referred to as "him" after his name was just introduced.

"I don't know," she replied. "It doesn't matter if The Boss gives me a cross to bear." She separated the stack of papers into four groups. Luckily, Hughes was kind enough to clip together the papers specifically for each member of Unit 66A. As Damia made her way out of the office, she dropped the papers for Havoc, Breda, and Falman on the appropriate desks. "All right, I'll see you when I see you," she added before exiting.

The four men were left in silence. Falman began fingering through his papers while Havoc pulled a pin-up magazine out of his drawer and began to read. Roy stood in front of Damia's desk, examining his new pocket-watch in pride as Breda stared at him while finishing his jelly doughnut. Roy ignored Breda's eyeing as he held the silver pocket-watch up to the direction of the incoming sunlight. He smiled and felt along the raised emblem of the Amestrian National Symbol with his thumb. To him, this pocket-watch was a tangibility of his youthful goals: to with alchemy become a protector and hero of the country he was so proud of. Roy's mind wandered. He imagined achieving high rank in the Amestrian State Military. Perhaps he would be the one to cease the taunting and attempted infiltration from their neighboring country, Galicija.

"Are you just gonna stand there, kid, or are you gonna ask us any questions about your job?" Breda asked with his arms folded in front of his chest.

Roy looked toward where the voice came from to see Breda, a broad, chunky, auburn-haired man of about thirty toughly staring him down.

"My name isn't "Kid", it's Roy Mustang," he said. "And I'm saving my questions for colonel Elric when she trains me. I'd rather hear my duties from her as she holds higher rank than any of us. And she's an alchemist."

"Look kid," Breda said, almost growling. "I don't like change. We had a great working unit and then you got assigned here. We have a commradery amongst ourselves and now there's you – some little alchemist teen who doesn't realize that the rest of us here have seniority over you."

What the hell is his problem? Roy thought.

"I'm a proud Amestrian State Alchemist, so you best get used to me around here," he responded coolly.

"You little punk …" Breda said through gritted teeth as he shook his head.

Havoc rose from his desk and put a hand on Breda's shoulder. "Now, now, just let it go," he said suavely. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. "Don't get too excited, Bredz. Save your energy for watching the Colonel drown this other new person." He leaned in close to his colleague and whispered in his ear, "We have all next week to decide on how to handle him anyway."

Breda shook his head, turned around, and walked to his desk. He plopped himself in his seat and began to look at his papers. Havoc gladly returned to his pin-up magazine while during all this time, Falman did not once look up from what he was doing. The room was completely silent except for a page-turn here and there. Roy remained in his spot in front of Damia's desk as he watched the clock, pondering the paradox of the unit's environmental person casually lighting up a cigarette in the office. The scent of tobacco reminded him of home. Whether he was doing some work at his adoptive aunt's pub or whether he was at his house, tobacco was everywhere. If he had not been away from home for the whole summer, he probably would not be able to notice if Havoc lit something up or not.

At about quarter after eight, the previous day's test announcer, Hughes, opened the office's door and popped his head through the doorway. "Time to fill up the stands, everyone!" he exclaimed lightheartedly.

The four members of Unit 66A quietly made their way to the doorway and out into the hall, Roy being the last one to exit. Hughes waited for all to pass before shutting and locking the door. He then approached Roy, who was slightly lagging behind his colleagues.

"Hey there," he said. "I remember you. You did a nice job yesterday."

"Thanks," Roy responded. "But in the end I lost. If it were a real battle I bet I would have been dead."

"Ah," Hughes said with a deep breath. "But it wasn't a true battle and you sent out impressive flames. We all were able to see that you have talent. You and Elric will make a fine pair." To Roy's silence, he added, "Yup. News gets around fast here. Most of us already heard about the water-and-fire cooperation."

"Great," Roy said as they turned a corner leading toward the door to bring them outside. He wondered exactly what the current gossip spreading around the base consisted of. It did not surprise him to be told how rapidly news spread since Kimblee had known a relatively good amount of word-by-mouth information concerning Damia.

"Well anyway," Hughes continued. "If you ever want to have a drink or something with someone, feel free to ask me." He then smiled and added with a smirking sarcasm, "Unit 66A's full of freaks. Elric even has a transgender brother."

The corner of Roy's mouth twisted into a smile and he shrugged. "My cousin Rupert's in jail."

"Hey – you'll have a lot to talk about next week at training!" Hughes exclaimed. They had reached the entrance to the arena's stands. "I've got to go announce again, so I'll see you around. My name's Maes Hughes, by the way."

"Roy Mustang," he said. "Thanks for the compliments on my alchemy, by the way."

"No problem – enjoy the fight!"

Roy entered the stands, found a seat, and sat down. He looked ahead of him at the sparring terrain. A smile formed on his lips when it occurred to him that he and Damia really did do a good job leveling out the area. It was an uplifting relief to see that all of that hard work paid off. He hoped that a simple order of evening the sparring terrain would be his first accomplishment to Fuhrer Bradley's satisfaction as a soldier. His elation only increased when he noticed Riza and Damia both at their spots. Yes, Roy certainly was interested in what was to be in store for his new partner.

The same starling blare as the previous day blasted over the intercom before Hughes' voice began the announcement, "You're all gonna love this unique test of Alchemist versus Sniper! Let's all get ready to jump out of our seats when I tell you the twist on today's fight!" There was a pause. "Tidal Alchemist Colonel Damia Elric will be … sparring with a gun! No alchemy for you, Damia!"

The reactions of the audience varied. Some soldiers laughed and blurted out "The Colonel can't shoot!" while others seemed to remain pensive and silent. Roy heard a voice a couple stands behind him say something about wondering how Damia would fare if she chose to use a sword as her weapon. From what he could make out, it appeared that Colonel Elric was not only quite skilled as a swordsman but was taught to use throwing knives. Before the vocal soldiers quieted down, a large grin spread across his face. This was going to be fun and interesting.

He looked over to the side of the arena where Riza stood. Within the continuing, but now ceasing, commotion in the stands he waved and gleefully exclaimed, "Hi, Riza!"

It began to grow quieter and quieter, drifting into silence slowly but surely. The test was going to start any moment now …


	7. Riza's Test

Author's Note: I'm glad to have gotten the reviews that I have received on "Quest for Mortality". I'm having a lot of fun playing around with this story! I'm afraid of it moving kind of slowly, as there's so much that dances around in my head at all period of the lives of the 200 year old Homunculi and there's so much I see happening in the future of this story! Hope you all like what will be coming! :)

What. The. Hell.

Those were the words to pass through Damia's mind upon hearing Hughes' surprise twist. In her experiences over the past five years in the military, when a new recruitee was tested no one was, so to speak, disarmed. However, the fairness question of the test now all made sense. Sure, take an alchemist but force them to spar as a normal soldier. It was not that Damia was completely useless without alchemy. Actually, she was quite a good swordsman, especially after her rigorous training with Olivier. But, if she had to shoot a gun, it was not her forte. When she had first learned to shoot, it was in the 1800's in Galicija. The pistols of the modern age were designed much differently and the contradictions in how to use the weapon just caused that split-second pause in Damia's brain. Perhaps something about guns also left her uneasy. She was not sure and she did not care to delve into her psyche as to why that may be.

Well, Damia thought. If I'm given a choice, I'm obviously taking the sword.

Fuhrer Bradley approached Damia and handed her a sparring pistol. He seemed to be intensively satisfied with the little surprise that he, of course, decided on. Smiling, he patted Damia on the back when she took the pistol into her hands.

"They're blanks, of course," he said.

"Sir, am I given an option as to what my weapon is?" Damia asked flatly, realizing that the answer would most obviously be a negative.

"No," he replied coolly. "A pistol it is. Good luck, Elric."

Yes, you made a fool out of me yesterday by refusing to display your true power, Bradley thought as he walked away into the stands. So, I shall make a fool out of you today. It's the least I can do to satisfy myself since I can't vanish you or your brother. I need more fun than to simply threaten …

"Now that we're all ready to go, let's get started!" Hughes announced. "Riza Hawkeye versus Colonel Damia Elric! The rules – whoever hits their foe with three blanks first is the winner! Begin at the sound of the horn!"

The arena was silent as Hughes made his way into the stands. Damia and Riza watched each other, both of them with their pistols in a pre-duel ready position as they awaited their signal. At the sound of the horn, both duelists flipped their weapon to aim at their opponent and fired three consecutive shots. Right as she was about to trigger her final shot, Damia felt her left shoulder being hit with a blank, followed by one at the right shoulder and one at her right thigh. The impact from the strikes left three marks on her uniform, each of them looking like an enhanced cigar burn. Meanwhile, Riza seemed to have been able to dodge two out of the three shots fired at her. The shot that hit her appeared to have only brushed against the sleeve on her right arm, causing the theory that Hawkeye was almost able to avoid that one as well.

What the hell is this? Damia thought. I know I'm not great with a gun but I'm not incompetent. It's as if she could tell exactly where I was firing. But how …?

Her train of thought was broken when a slowly applauding Fuhrer Bradley entered the sparring terrain from Riza's side of the arena. He was obviously more than satisfied with the outcome of the test. Riza, despite hearing the claps behind her, did not budge. She only continued to look ahead of her at the damage she had done to Damia's uniform. Due to the distance apart from each other that they were standing, Damia could not tell for sure but she could swear that the expression on Riza's face held some degree of ire.

"Excellent work, Hawkeye," Bradley said as he approached Riza. "You definitely passed and will be a First Lieutenant in Elric's unit."

"Thank you, Fuhrer," Riza responded out of duty. Her tone was flat and probably covering her disdain toward her test.

There's something not right here, Damia thought. All alchemists start out as First Lieutenants. I never heard of anything like this happening. I'll have to ask Olivier what rank she began on.

"And Colonel Elric," Bradley continued. "I think you will benefit a lot from training Mustang next week. You can improve your shooting skills along with solidifying his."

"I will follow such orders, sir," Damia said, cursing in her mind how she was being demeaned in front of the other soldiers.

"Good," he said. "Take Hawkeye to your office and fill out her paperwork before finishing what you have to complete." It was then that he looked toward the stands to see that they were still completely filled with soldiers. "You're all free to go! Get back to work!" he added.

The arena slowly began to empty. All was silent. Fuhrer Bradley said nothing more to Riza and Damia as he, too, exited. Riza remained still in her place, her eyes now locked on the sparring pistol she had used. Damia moved toward her.

"Follow me, Hawkeye," she said. "We'll complete your paperwork and then you'll have the rest of the day off. That's our protocol after a new soldier is tested. Paperwork is filled out with the head of the unit and then the soldier is free to get acquainted with the base on their own. I'll give you a map and you just take your time and make sure you know the basics of where the most important areas are. I'll probably be training you during the week after next and then if you need it I can give you a more detailed tour. But since you have all weekend until Monday and then another week before I'll be seeing you again, I doubt that will be necessary."

"Yes, Colonel," Riza said as she began to follow Damia out of the arena and to the office.

As she followed, looking ahead of her at Damia's back, Riza could not get her mind off of the test. In her opinion, the test was a fluke, as she was not able to truly experience what she could be up against. During the period of time she was back home after the Military Academy Summer Program ended, Riza even did some research through her father's paperwork as to who could possibly test a new recruitee and what their abilities were. Luckily, she was able to come across a brief list of the best-known talents of some of the soldiers. From this information, Riza knew that Damia Elric was not only a Water Alchemist, but someone skilled with swords and knives. After all of that preparation, all of that work, she was placed against a soldier with both an alchemic and a non-alchemic talent who was unable to display their full potential due to Bradley's order. Riza looked at her hands. She even work special cut-resistant gloves in case a dagger-throwing Damia tried to slash her hand so she could not aim her gunshot.

"Riza, you're a girl, you should behave more like a girl …"

The memory of a simple schoolteacher penetrated her mind.

"You're a girl, Riza, you can't play soccer with us …"

Another memory of a male classmate followed.

She then remembered how when she was a child, around Christmastime her mother would have her dress up in a military uniform and salute while she protested against the lack of encouragement toward giving little girls toy soldiers for presents. Despite the cold weather, Riza was glad to protest with her mother. She loved wearing the uniform and even at that young age had aspirations of being a soldier. The only thing that had ever bothered her was if a person, usually a middle-aged woman, would make a comment to their companion such as, "What a shame, making a pretty girl stand out saluting like that."

Riza could hear those memories spoken in Fuhrer Bradley's voice now.

So, is it because the Colonel and I are both girls that we were to be a joke spar for all the men out there? She asked herself bitterly. Well, over time, you'll all see just what power this girl will bring to a unit run by another girl …


	8. Allegiance

After filing Riza Hawkeye's paperwork, Damia took her own work and remained in her private office, listening to a Galicjan radio station. She did not want to brother with Roy, Falman, Havoc, and Breda if it was not necessary. They all had a lot of work to do in preparation for her absence next week. For Roy, she gave him an overview of his job as the biotech person and told him to spend the day looking over sword and pistol techniques to prepare for his training. She was glad to be left alone. Whenever she played the Galicjan radio, it was an audible "Do not disturb" sign in the office. To be sure that all understood that the "Do not disturb" was on, Damia would begin playing the radio loud enough so that the other officers could hear that it was on, and then turn the volume down so that no one could be disturbed as they worked.

Before Damia knew it, the time for lunch break had arrived. She waited until she was sure that the other four officers had left before leaving herself and heading to one of the break rooms. There was one room in particular that did not offer as much of a variety of food as the others. Instead of a cafeteria setting, it was simply a room with a few tables and a medium-sized refrigerator with some food choices. The majority of soldiers for this reason chose not to frequent it, so of course Damia always did. It was the closest to privacy that she could get outside of her personal office, so there was no way that she was going to brave the cafeteria.

She entered the room and turned on the stove to begin boiling some water to be used for coffee. Next to the stove was the refrigerator. Damia opened the door. Inside were some prepared salads, a large bowl of apples and pears, some strips of chicken meat, and sliced pumpernickel bread. She took one of the salads, a couple slices of bread, and a pear. As she waited for the water to boil before brewing herself some coffee, Damia rinsed and began to eat her pear.

She was in the room alone until Major Alex Louis Armstrong joined her. This was the case on most days. Usually, she and Alex would be the only ones frequenting this room at lunchtime.

"I'm making some coffee, do you want some?" she asked.

"Sure," Alex, a very tall, broad, and muscular blond in his mid-twenties replied. He went to the refrigerator and began to fix himself a sandwich with the salad ingredients, the chicken strips, and the bread. "How are you doing? You now have two more people to manage."

"It is what it is," Damia replied. "The way I feel about it makes no difference."

Alex sat down and took a bite out of his sandwich. He shook his head. "The unit I'm in, Basque Grand's unit, has that Zolf Kimblee. I think he may have psychotic tendencies and Grand appears amused by him. It's exhausting just being in the same room as Zolf. You never know if he may just snap and explode something for fun."

"That … does not sound good …" she said, not knowing exactly how to respond. She poured a brewed coffee for herself and one for Alex. She brought Alex his cup before returning to her spot leaning against the counter. "This won't help you but neither of my new people are like that."

Alex looked around the room to be sure that he and Damia were alone before speaking.

"Since we can, I want to say something, but I want it to securely be entre-nous. Sit down, Damia."

Damia took her lunch and sat across from him. "What is it?" she asked.

"These procedures make me uneasy," Alex said quietly. "Take this morning. Why weren't you allowed to choose your weapon? I've seen alchemists test non-alchemists before and they always had a choice of either sword or gun. Do you remember when I had to test Maes Hughes? I got to choose a sword. Then, your Riza Hawkeye is already a First Lieutenant? Who does she know?"

Damia shrugged. "I don't know. Her father did some research for the military, according to Hawkeye's papers. Sort of like what my father did and what Shou Tucker does for a living, from what I can tell."

Alex shook his head and took a sip of coffee. "I don't care if they're coming from this Academy Summer Program. I don't like this bringing in people by the carload. I heard it's happening in the other bases too. It's an Amestrian Youth Squad, I swear."

Before Damia could respond, loud footsteps burst through the doorway. In marched a tall woman in her late twenties with long, fine flaxen-blonde hair. She had a powerful, overbearing demeanor and a hard, icy face. The woman loudly walked over to the table Damia and Alex were sitting at and pounded her fist next to Damia.

"You made a joke out of me today, Elric!" she snipped. "Now it looks like I failed at training you, don't you think!?"

"Oh, God …" Alex muttered to himself. He looked like he was going to suffer a headache.

"I don't think my performance is so important that anyone is making a connection between my abilities and who trained me, Olivier." Damia said, hoping that her one-time boss would leave her alone.

"You will address me as Brigadier General when you piss me off!" Olivier snapped at Damia, who still had her eyes fixated on her lunch and did not look up once.

"Olivier, please," Alex began, beginning to hold his head. "We've all had a long week –"

Olivier slapped her younger brother on the back of his head. "Shut up, Alex!"

"Brigadier General, do you really find it fair that Damia was not given the option to use a sword?" he continued, hoping that what he was about to say could possibly sedate his fiery sister. "If she could have used a sword, she could have demonstrated all that work you put into her five years ago. You remember how slow Damia was before you trained her."

"That's right, sir," Damia agreed. It was true; she had always been slower than she probably should have been until she was trained by Olivier. Fencing was a hobby that Bernard could almost always defeat her at because he was faster. This was transformed into the opposite after training with Olivier.

There was a beat of silence. The iciness melted off of Olivier's face. "All that work …" she began. A gleam of anger flashed in her blue eyes. "All that work I did couldn't be showcased! So – Bradley didn't just want to make Elric look incompetent. I was on the chopping block as well!"

"Very possible," Alex said. "With a sword, Damia could have maybe blocked Hawkeye's shots."

"She could have done more than block! She could have hit the little blanks back at her!" Olivier exclaimed before turning to Damia. "I don't like this. Did you really have to enlist that girl as a First Lieutenant?"  
Damia nodded as she chewed some salad greens. After swallowing, she asked, "With your talents, General, did you get the alchemist treatment of First Lieutenant when you were new?"

"No!" she bit back, not angry at Damia but angry at the circumstances. "I had to prove myself and work my ass up from the bottom!"

"That's why I'll say this again," Alex added quietly. "I don't like all these people coming in …"

"Colonel Elric,"

The three officers in the room turned their heads toward the door to see Riza Hawkeye having just entered. Upon meeting Damia's eyes, Riza approached the table. She stood next to Olivier and took a slip of paper out of her pocket. Damia could see that it was a voucher for the steak dinner for two at the Government Tavern.

"Lieutenant Hughes passed this along to me. He said that it was my prize for winning our fight," she said. "But I don't like red meat, so I thought I should ask you if you wanted it, sir."

"Thanks, but I'm not a fan either," Damia replied.

Immediately after Damia finished speaking, Olivier briskly snatched the voucher out of Riza's hand with a quick, "I do." She looked at the voucher, read what it said, and shifted her eyes toward her brother. "Dinner for two," she continued. "Looks like it's your lucky day, Alex. Tomorrow night, I say."

With a smile, Alex said, "That sounds great. I haven't had one of those steaks since –"

"Shut up, Alex," Olivier interrupted. She looked at the clock to check the time, then to Riza, who still stood beside her, and then to Damia. "Find me in my unit's office before you leave the base tonight, Elric. I want to have a quick chat with you. Man-to-man. Mano-a-mano."

After those words, Olivier turned on the heels of her boots and left. Damia and Alex began to finish the last bits of their lunches as Riza continued to stay at her spot, as if awaiting an order. The awkward air caused Damia to look at the clock and check the time herself. It was nearing the end of their lunch break. She would not have minded having the final minutes alone with Alex in case he wanted to add another comment on what exactly was going on in Basque's unit with the new Kimblee variable.

"Um, Riza, you can continue touring the base or even just go home," Damia said. She had never been in the situation of a junior officer awaiting direction not only during a lunch break, but during their own time off. "Like I told you before we filed your paperwork, technically you're dismissed."

"Is that an order, sir?" she asked.

After a short pause, Damia replied, "Um, yeah. Yes it is. Colonel to First Lieutenant. Go home."

"Yes, sir," Riza said before exiting the room.

The room was silent. Alex looked at Damia with an uneasy, puzzled expression on his face. He followed suit, gathering up his trash upon seeing Damia clean up herself.

"Damia," he said as he rose from his chair. "I don't know who's scarier, Kimblee or your Hawkeye. Her formality, her – her robotic ways … it isn't normal."

Damia shrugged. "I don't know. For now, I'm assuming that she's a little nervous, being new to the military and all. Doesn't want to make a mistake."

"That could be," Alex said as the two of them made their way out of the room. "Maybe it's just me making too much out of everything going on here." He chuckled. "For generations the Armstrong family have been made uneasy by new recruitees!"

Damia smiled. She was unsure as to whether or not Alex's family declaration was a good sign or a bad one. It could be good that he felt comfortable enough to relieve stress through his patriotic familial pride. However, it could be bad if one considered that enough stress was amassing inside Alex that he felt the need to release it.

She put her hand on Alex's arm before they split to their different areas of the base. "I'll see you later, Alex. Take it easy. You're going to have a big steak this weekend."

He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. "Ah, yes …" Before they separated, he added an "Enjoy your weekend" and they both made their ways to their units.

That's right, Damia thought as the steak dinner reminded her of Olivier. I'll be meeting with her at the end of the day.

She already was eager to know what Olivier could possibly want to discuss with her.

The work day ended smoothly and to her great relief and satisfaction, almost all of the following week's available business was completed. At five o'clock, Damia dismissed her unit and informed Roy of his directions for Monday: to get to the office at eight like usual and that they'd begin their training from there. To her surprise, Roy appeared to be a bit beaten down from the day. It was quite the contrary to his awe and excitement upon receiving his pocket-watch that morning. Damia was not going to ask. Whatever was going on in his mind was neither her business nor her concern as long as he got to work on time on Monday and accomplished what needed to be accomplished during training. She had the sneaking suspicion that Breda and Havoc might have decided to pick on him.

Whatever, She thought as she set aside some papers for Hughes to take Monday morning. It's Roy's problem, not mine, and he has a whole weekend to snap out of it and not make it mine.

Damia locked the Unit 66A office and began to head down the hall toward Olivier's. She took out her pocket-watch to check the time. It was just a few minutes after five. Even though she was curious about this meeting with Olivier, she hoped it would not take too much time as she wanted to leave the base as soon as possible. As she slid her pocket-watch back into her jacket pocket, Damia was reminded of yet another task that needed to be put into play that weekend.

Note to self, She thought. Bernard, please be at my apartment so we can make arrangements to go to Galicja and have a fake pocket-watch made for Roy. Eye-Patch's little tracking device isn't going to tag me through Fire-Boy.

When she reached Olivier's unit's office, Damia turned the doorknob and let herself in. In the back of the room sat Olivier at her personal desk. There was a chair at the other side all prepared for their discussion.

"Lock the door," Olivier said.

Damia silently did so and sat down across from Olivier. A beat of dead air passed before Olivier began to speak. Her voice was quiet, calm, and serious – the contrary to her usual demeanor.

"I don't want this to be too long, either because I want to get the hell out of here, too," she said. "I know you feel the same way. You and I – we're more alike than I ever fathomed when you first showed up here."

"It seems every year gives us more in common."

"Which is why," she continued. "That I think we must form an allegiance. A secret allegiance. I'm beginning to think we're both at risk, Elric. Or, if not at risk, seen as a threat by a certain individual in power, if you catch me."

Damia nodded. "The E.P.," she said as she winked her left eye, the same eye that Fuhrer Bradley covered with his eye-patch.

"Correct. So, gentleman's agreement. If I notice something off-kilter, I alert you, and you do the same vis-à-vis me."

"Deal. And also, an established level of comfort and confidentiality upon one other thing …" Damia leaned forward over the desk. "Asking each other what we know and what we can carefully and safely find out about a culprit of arising suspicion." She leaned back to her original posture in the chair.

"Of course," Olivier replied. She then extended her hand. "Our pact is sealed, Damia."

A smile twisted on Damia's lips. She immediately caught onto the addition of Olivier's promise, which was referring to her by her first name, her preferred means of identification. She shook Olivier's hand, looked her straight in the eye, and said, "You've got it, General."

Olivier, also smiling with a collected triumph, rose from her desk. "Yes, you do understand my thought process more than the other oafs in this military. We will be a successful team. That's why The E.P. felt the need to break us up after only a little after a year of you being under my unit." She sniggered. "And to think I got such pleasure out of pestering you before you moved out of the Barracks."

"It's because I am half Galicjan that I know the ways of the Ice Queen," Damia said coolly in a Galicjan accent. She rose from her sat and asked in her normal voice, "Am I dismissed, General?"

"Yes," she replied. "Go home, Damia. Get the hell out of here."

With a casual salute, Damia left the room. In her mind she was beginning to sort through possibilities of whom to maybe ask Olivier about at a future date. Images of solders she was familiar with raced through her thoughts until one in particular refused to leave her. A soldier who arrived around three years ago, a man who appeared completely innocuous, perhaps, but also one who, like Alex Armstrong, maybe had so much on his plate that he needed to relieve himself of stress. He appeared so harmless, so friendly, yet obviously very good at his job. His job … did anyone really know exactly what his job entailed? Did he even have an assigned unit, or was he a floater? And if he was a floater, what was his purpose in the military and with whom would his immediate loyalty and obedience lie with?

The name of his soldier?

First Lieutenant Maes Hughes.


	9. Weekend Plans

Bernard lay on the futon, quietly humming some song he had heard at the deli that afternoon. In one hand he held two train tickets he purchased that morning. The other hand he lightly flung and twirled around as if conducting the instrumentation of the song he was humming. As he waited for Damia to return from the base, he scanned over the train tickets. Everything was perfectly arranged for a short hop over the border to Galicja. They would leave the following morning, easily be able to complete their business over a period of twenty-four hours, and take an early evening train back to Amestris. Bernard had successfully phoned a watchmaker he knew and made the order of a silver pocket-watch mirroring the ones used by Amestrian State Alchemists. Since this particular watchmaker had made Damia's fake pocket-watch a few years ago, the original blueprints were still in his files so the job could easily be completed in a matter of two days.

Bernard was grinning. He could not wait to see his sister's reaction when finding out that he was one step ahead of her. After taking two years to realize that there must have been some sort of tracking device implanted in the State Alchemist pocket-watches, he knew that Damia would require having a fake one made for Roy Mustang. The plan was perfect: Bernard made the arrangements to have the fake made and got their train tickets and Damia would somehow find the opportunity to switch Mustang's watch with the copy. He was also very eager to be able to visit Galicja, even if just for a day. His first century as a Homunculus was spent in Galicja before a conflict with neighboring eastern countries caused Hoenheim to think it would be safer for the three of them to return to Amestris. Bernard and Damia both loved Galicja and even though the Galicjan blood in their veins came from their plotting mother, they both felt more loyalty to Galicja than to Amestris.

They possessed Galicjan loyalty for good reason, after they met their horrific demises – murders – in the once-existing Amestrian city, Xerxes.

Bernard wrinkled his face for a moment upon remembering Xerxes. It was almost two centuries since he had died but still a part of him remained forever haunted by the horrors of his demise. Sometimes he wondered if Damia truly did appear to be unscarred by their deaths, or if she simply kept her pain subdued so that she could serve as some sort of stability for the two of them. Many times Bernard assumed the latter since he was aware of how all through their childhood that their father would tell Damia that she had to be the protecting sibling.

Letting my mind float to this is useless, He thought as he stirred a little on the futon. Xerxes and Dad are far from productive topics.

Thank God, He added to himself when he heard the apartment door being unlocked.

Damia opened the door and entered. Upon seeing her brother she immediately said, "Perfect! I was hoping you'd be here!"

Before she could say anything more, Bernard sprung off of the futon and waved the train tickets in the air. "If you have plans this weekend, they're cancelled because …" He walked over to her. "We're going to Galicja tomorrow! I made the order for a certain pocket-watch for a certain Colonel to smuggle to her new alchemist."

Damia beamed and gave Bernard an energetic hug. "Ah! Bernard you're the best!" she exclaimed joyfully with a bit of a laugh. "You always know exactly what to do!"

He laughed. "We get this done and have an excuse to visit home at the same time!"

She pulled away and slapped him a high-five. She had not felt so elated in quite a while. As busy as it would be, catching the train, doing business, and returning to Amestris, Damia did not care. It would be a wonderful short escape from her rote life. Not to mention that she would get the pocket-watch copy to somehow switch with Roy's real one. The training week should be a workable time to perform the action. She and Roy would be together for an entire week so the opportunity to surreptitiously switch the two items was bound to arise.

What an interesting week it had been.

A pact with Olivier.

An alchemist partner.

The mystery of Riza Hawkeye.

The active volcano ready to spew that was filed under the name of Zolf Kimblee.

Yes, life had taken an immediate turn in being very, very curious and interesting. It was as if the little excursion to Galicja would serve as the marking point of the beginning of a whole new era. An era in what exactly was unknown to Damia, but it was bound to be toasted on by two siblings on a train with a fake pocket-watch over a couple of shots of real Galicjan vodka.


	10. The Beginning of a Water Master

Her fifth birthday was different than those previous. Sure, some things never changed. Instead of a sugar-laden birthday cake, the day was celebrated with a dessert in the form of a fruit and nut bread baked with some cinnamon and anise. This was the treat always used on special occasions for the family and the making of this treat was one of the only times that Damia had been seeing her mother un-obsessed with her alchemic research for the past two years. She did not know what it was about this bread that leveled out her mother's mind but she was not going to ask. She knew that this special recipe was from Galicja, her mother's birth-land. Maybe for Dante it was simply being able to have a sample of her home country while residing in Amestris.

So yes, Damia Elric's fifth birthday began as normal. But shortly after the sweet breakfast, she received her first present, a present that would serve as the building block for the rest of her life. There was a different air about Dante. The usual serious and obsessed woman seemed warmer and almost excited as she handed her daughter a book.

A beginning alchemy book.

Damia took the book and immediately opened it. Bernard, one year her junior, leaned over to look as well. Even though both of them were quite smart and literate for their ages, this book, despite composed of remedial information, contained much vocabulary foreign to them both.

"Dante, isn't she –" Hoenheim began to say a bit uneasily. He was not sure exactly how he felt about a five year old already being encouraged to engulf herself in alchemy. On the other hand, five years was the minimum age where it was considered appropriate to begin teaching alchemy, since it was assumed that the child's energy would have hit a certain degree of development by then.

"She'll be fine," Dante interrupted before sitting next to Damia. Both of the two children were completely fascinated by the drawings of transmutation circles in the book. She put her hand on Damia's shoulder. "It'll be hard for you to learn by yourself, of course, so I'm going to teach you everything in this book and more."

Damia looked up at her mother with vivid, eager eyes. "Really?" she asked. "You're gonna take me in the basement?"  
"No, not the basement," Dante replied to the question concerning the part of the house which served as her lab. "That's too advanced. Way too advanced. But you're going to start now when you're young so you'll have the potential to be a master when you're older."

"And me?" Bernard asked with a spark of enthusiasm in his voice.

"Your father can teach you next year when your energy is more developed," she replied. "Let's go outside and begin," she added to Damia.

"Okay!" Damia exclaimed, beaming with excitement as she held her new book and followed her mother outside. She did not once look back at her pouting, sulking brother.

A moment of silence passed before Bernard glanced up at Hoenheim. "So, what are we gonna do?" he asked flatly.

"I thought maybe we'd go for a walk and I can teach you some history," Hoenheim answered, his mind still somewhat concerned with exactly what Dante would be telling and teaching their daughter.

"Oh no," Bernard groaned. He then puffed out a sigh and stood up. "Well, let's get this over with."

Damia did not have many memories of her mother. For the past two years, Dante was always working and researching so if she and Bernard were not alone they were under Hoenheim's supervision. The young girl was glad to receive the rare attention of her mother, especially since she was to learn alchemy, a word that one could not go a day without hearing in the household. It was like a rite of passage to be let in on the secrets of the esteemed word. Because Dante was a Wind Alchemist and Hoenheim was a Light Alchemist, being introduced to the science was similar to an initiation into the family. At least that was how it appeared to Damia.

Outdoors, the two began with Dante going over the four main branches of alchemy: Fire, Light, Water, and Wind. She made it clear that each of these specialties would only be able to be explored after having a solid foundation of General Alchemy.

Damia pointed to the page in the alchemy book displaying the transmutation circle for Water Alchemy. "Under here, it calls Water Alchemy 'The Mad Man's Art'. Why?"

Dante smiled. She was happy to receive this question as the answer would display a great pride in her lineage. "There is a special technique with this type of alchemy that very few people are aware of. It's passed down through families and anyone who knows it takes the secret to the grave unless they have a child of their own to teach." She put her index finger on the page and traced over the transmutation circle for water. "And I know the secret."

"But you're a Wind Alchemist."

She nodded. "I learned that from my father. But my mother was very talented with water. I know the technique but never fully developed it." Her tone turned somewhat solemn. "My older brother chose water so I wanted to master wind."

Damia was puzzled. She never knew that she had an uncle. Even though she never met her grandparents on either side, she knew that her mother and father both had to have had a mother and father. Hoenheim had told her and Bernard that the reason they never met their paternal grandparents was because he had left home to avoid having to become a carpenter. But Dante, in the slim moments she spent with her son and daughter, never once said anything about her family except that she was Galicjan.

"Will my uncle teach me water?" Damia asked.

Dante simply shook her head. "My brother Ludwig died long ago." She turned to Damia. "But when you're ready, I can show you what I was exposed to and perhaps his talent will live again through you."

"Okay," she said, not quite sure of how to respond. She then added, "I can do that!"

Damia's personality and eagerness to learn alchemy was oddly comforting to Dante, yet a bit eerie at the same time. Not only did the girl physically resemble her side of the family, but she had the ambition, curiosity, and drive mirroring what she remembered of herself growing up. It was astounding to Dante just how unexpected life could be. It happened not to have ever crossed her mind that one of the children she viewed as mini-experiments would turn out to resemble her so much. That was what was a bit eerie.

As she began to show Damia how to draw the simplest transmutation circle, Dante could not help but think about her deceased brother. She was always haunted by wondering if Ludwig – or anyone in their family – would have been able to protect their village from the invading Ishvalans if they were not dependant on the transmutation circle-holding gloves for Water and Wind Alchemists. Dante knew that it was possible to sense the molecules and create intangible circles out of the atoms in the air, because she herself had developed that ability. However, by the time she accidentally stumbled upon that skill out of necessity and fear, it was too late …

"Mommy, look!"

A beaming Damia pointed at what she had just created – her first transmutation – taking a medium-sized rock and changing it from a circular blob to a finely-chiseled little pyramid. The young girl looked at her hands in awe that they had a role in morphing the rock but never once touching it after it was placed in the middle of the transmutation circle.

Dante was impressed at just how sharp the edges and how smooth the sides of the pyramid were. "Damia, that – that's excellent!" she said. "We'll keep working on this for a while. Step by step, let's see how much you can change a rock from its original form." She grabbed another lumpy rock that was about the same size as the first one. "All right, erase the first transmutation circle and draw it again. It's important not to recycle used circles because the energy from the first transmutation will interfere with the next one being properly done."

Damia began to erase her first circle in the dirt. "Can I try making a cup?"

"Sure, whatever you'd like," Dante replied. As she watched her daughter continue on the procedure, she could not help but be reminded again, over and over, of her life in Galicja. The memories just kept falling back into her conscience, eventually poisoned by the indelible horror of her village being infiltrated and destroyed by the Ishvalans.

The day of destruction brought four years of enslavement, suffering, and peril in the eastern land nicknamed "The Land of the Sand People".

And then …

The light emitted from Damia's transmutation ever so slightly blinded Dante. The light appeared just as she began to remember the day she, out of fear that all Galicjan slaves would be massacred, decimated her owner's estate and fueled the beginning of the Philosopher's Stone. That light, obviously much stronger and brighter than Damia's small transmutation, was one of the eeriest things that Dante ever experienced. She could remember almost feeling death, as the light encompassed her and seemed as if it was going to burn her soul from her very flesh, until a twist of fate decided to spare the then sixteen year-old girl. In an instant, the light had disappeared and Dante was left alone in the desert. All of the estate was gone, as well as all of the people who had been there, both Galicjan and Ishvalan. The then terrified Dante began searching, desperately calling the names of her brother, parents, and friends before she stumbled upon a small, crimson-colored stone. It was not until she picked up the stone and felt the energy distributing throughout it that she realized exactly what she had done …

Now, almost twenty years later, that same crimson stone lay under glass in the basement, slowly but surely being developed in its obsessed creator's plans in securing an immortal body. The securing of an immortal body all in the name of being God, to spit in His face for the Galicjan enslavement being part of His Divine Plan. A life to last forever, to never die, to contain the principle of finding a use for the accidental deaths of Dante's people, simply so they would not have been destroyed completely in vain.

"It's not as good as the pyramid," Damia said. She held up a small cup. The shape was successfully made, but it lacked the fine-tuned smoothness of the previous transmutation. Inside it did not even completely form a hole, as a bit of a lump of rock still remained "un-scooped" out.

Dante took the cup. "It's not bad at all," she said with assurance. "Remember Damia, this is only your second transmutation. I think it's a success that you made the shape correctly. Try again and concentrate more. Concentrate more on what makes a cup a cup – that it can hold something inside of it. Place some more energy toward that purpose."

Damia nodded and immediately began smoothing out the dirt to make a clean slate for a new transmutation circle. She held a spark in her eyes of determination, a spark almost speaking "I'll be damned if I don't make a perfect cup today."

As her daughter began drawing a new circle, Dante picked up the alchemy book and started flipping through the first chapter. She was proud that Damia had ambition and even, apparently, talent. Maybe it was good to remember the painful memories of Ishval on this day, the day on which she would commence training her daughter. Maybe it was actually productive for Dante to be reminded of how she and Ludwig were both once novices themselves; and that even though only she had been able to successfully stumble upon doing so, that it was possible to perform alchemy without a transmutation circle.

If Damia learns Water Alchemy, she'll be taking the same path Ludwig did, Dante thought. But Damia can master it and figure out how to wean herself off of the transmutation-circle gloves.

She smiled. Her daughter could aim to complete what her deceased brother was unable to accomplish.


	11. The Unknown Dangers of East Central

A/N: Roy's back! Sorry about the last chapter being kind of a little flashback type of scenario. I wanted to write that to get a better hold of Dante's character and the upbringing of Damia and Bernard (Envy). I'm going to try to make the training chapters not be too slow and I'm going to try to focus them more around the relationship between Roy and Damia and what they confide in each other.

Although she woke up Monday morning quite tired, the weekend excursion in Galicja was a success. Damia immediately brewed two cups of coffee for herself and ate an apple before changing into her uniform, grabbing her usual pumpernickel bagel to eat on the way, and heading toward the base. All this time, Bernard was still sleeping in the corner on his mattress. Luckily for him, if he had anywhere to go like filling in a shift at the local deli for some extra money, it was later on in the day. At least Damia knew that this day would not be too difficult, as according to protocol, the first day of training a new soldier mainly consisted of an in-depth tour of the base. She stuck her hand in her pocket and breathed a sigh of relief that she did in fact remember to put Roy's fake pocket-watch in her uniform after returning home the previous night. Sometime that week the opportunity to switch the real and fake pocket-watches would have to arise. It was simply the question of whether it would be sooner or later.

When she arrived at the office, Roy, Riza, and Falman were already there. Falman appeared to look as if he had heard too many questions since arriving. Roy must have came across him on the way to the office and decided to ask him some things. Riza, on the other hand, was calm and staid, awaiting some sort of direction as she stood by the new desk designated for her.

"Do Havoc and Breda come in at the last minute every day?" Damia heard Roy ask Falman as she separated some papers into piles for her junior officers. She gave Falman's work to him and placed the other sets of papers on the appropriate desks. For Riza, she provided a book of expenses and budgeting along with an overview of positions and interactions among rank, office jobs, and combat jobs.

"Yes, but they're always on time," Falman replied, almost with a flat sigh. To change the subject he said to Damia, "Thanks again for the dinner voucher, Colonel. My wife and I had a wonderful Saturday night."

With a bit of a yawn, she smiled and said, "That's good. I'm glad."

"You seem tired," he added. "Busy weekend?"

"Yeah, I visited some friends," she replied. It was not exactly lying. "They live far away. I'm all right, though. I'll be near-perfect once the coffee kicks in."

Before anyone could say anything more, Breda and Havoc entered. Roy, not facing the two just-entered soldiers, rolled his eyes. He already found both of them unpleasant and Breda especially gave him a bit of a hard time on Friday. The only consolation was that neither Breda nor Havoc got the idea of taunting him with their own version of the "Baby-faced Balloon Head" jab that Zolf Kimblee had used throughout their school years.

"Great!" Damia said and clapped her hands together once the entire unit was present. "Now that everyone's here, I can get started with Roy. As usual with my planned absence, I designate highest rank to Lieutenant Falman. The work I have received for each of you is on your desk. Hawkeye, for the time being, you can serve as office manager. Right now, take a survey of what we have here and write down what you think we may need and what you have any sort of criticism about. Be as picky and precise as you deem appropriate. According to your paperwork, you had succeeded in economics and business courses, yes?"

"Yes, sir," she said, nearly with some enthusiasm.

"Good. I gave you all the information you need to know about the budgeting and spending system in place for the unit along with an intensive overview of military interactions. A sort of manual."

As Damia began to head toward the door with Roy, Breda spoke with a smirk on his face, "And Damia, are we gonna have something else to do with Hawkeye …?"

"You know what to do," she answered.

"Dodgeball?"

"Yup,"

Breda laughed. "All right, now we're talkin'!" After Damia and Roy left, he exchanged smirking glances with Havoc. One week of dodgeball with Riza Hawkeye followed by another week to play the little game with Roy Mustang … neither could ask for more amusement.

"Um, what's dodgeball?" Roy asked after they left the office. Breda could not possibly have been talking about the schoolyard game.

"Nothing of your concern right now," Damia replied. "All you have to worry about this week is getting to know the base and the rest of training. Today I'm giving you a tour but be prepared for a lot of alchemy and sword work this week. We'll go over target shooting too but mainly alchemy and fencing. I know that the Academy Summer Program focuses more on shooting than swordsmanship so you're going to need help with that."

Some sniggering escaped Roy's lips even though he tried to contain it. He was pleasantly reminded of Damia's test with Riza.

"Don't think I don't know what you think is so funny," she said firmly as she stopped in her tracks and faced him. "I have no responsibility to you to explain the circumstances of testing another soldier. Perhaps if you ever lost an arm or a leg you'd have some degree of understanding what it is like for me to be unable to use alchemy. In fact, both an arm and a leg since I couldn't use a sword." She shook her head. "Why am I getting defensive over you?" she asked herself out loud as she continued on her way. "You're not worth it …"

"What the hell do you mean by that?" he asked bitterly, responding to her final comment. "Damn it, you're all over the place. One minute you demean me, then you're nice to me, but in the end you're just like your entire unit, aren't you?! And by 'the unit' I mean Havoc and Breda. Is this how you made colonel – messing with peoples' minds and driving them nuts?!"

Damia continued walking. "I assume you know this building pretty well. This building is the main one and it's only used for offices and the library. I'll show you what everything else is outside. It's important to know where to go, what's there, and where never to go."

Damn her, she's avoiding everything, Roy thought as he followed Damia out of a door. And this is the unreliable partner I'm stuck with …?

Just when I start to think this kid isn't so bad, he has to piss me off, She thought. What an example of Amestris he is. He even looks ethnically exactly like the original Amestrians, before the country became a conglomeration of conquered city-states. What else should I expect from this blasted country …?

She brought Roy around to various areas of the base, such as the arena and the different training areas. The tour was all silent except for Damia's voice saying what each area was and what it was designated for. It was not until she brought him to a sign that read 'Security Clearance Required' that the two began to converse more.

"And here," Damia said sternly but with a bit of a puff of air as she stopped walking. "Here you do not go past. Even if a superior officer gives you an order to go beyond this sign, consult your manual and consult your applicable immediate superior to legally find some way as to why you are not qualified for the order."

"What's the big problem if it's an order?" Roy asked curiously. "If it's an order then you'd get a temporary license meeting the required Security Clearance, right?"

Damia's voice was softer now and she spoke in a tone of uneasy somberness. "I don't know. Luckily I have never been in such a position to give or receive this type of order. But promise me that if you are told to go beyond here that you will notify me immediately."

"Sure," Roy said, puzzled.

"It's not a 'sure' but a solid 'yes' that I need from you, Roy," she said, looking into his eyes. "Promise me."

"Yes, Colonel, I promise," he said. A beat passed before he added, "I know you'll probably say that it's none of my business, but why is this such a big deal?" He quickly continued, hoping this addition would prevent a possible biting comment from Damia, "After all, as partners we have to feel comfortable enough with each other to ask such questions."

Damia put a hand on Roy's shoulders. "Let's get away from this area. Thank God it's quiet around here today. We can speak softly as we walk."

They began to head toward the direction of the training areas. The two walked side-by-side, quite close together, and conversed in hushed speech.

"A few years ago, before I had my own unit, a colleague of mine – friend, too actually – received an order to deliver something past that sign. She was given this order by a superior, but not by our immediate superior. I don't know who gave her that order but … but she never came back."

"Maybe she was transferred?" Roy asked. Damia's tone and demeanor was eerie, as if she was seriously telling a ghost story, and it was beginning to send a chill down his spine.

She shrugged. "It's possible but I highly doubt it. For starters, our immediate superior had no information on the loss of the soldier except that she was no longer in the unit. Then, add to that the general system of the way base assignments are in the military." She felt it was safe enough to speak a bit louder. The information she was about to provide was pertinent to tour information. "You see, Amesitris has six bases: the two main bases located around the two central cities, such as ours, and a base near the boarders of our country and each of our neighbors, Galicja, Romana, Norda Province, and Gael Province. The Galicja and Romana bases deal mainly with political situations, while the Norda and Gael bases tend to be used for training and economic regulatory issues. The two central bases, outs and the Western Central base, are mainly composed of combat soldiers, which is why we have the State Alchemists." Her voice softened again. "From what I know, only the two central bases have weird areas like where we just were. Also, soldiers whose home bases are boarder bases legally cannot be transferred to a central base."  
"Could you or I get sent to a boarder base?" he asked.

"Technically yes, but only under necessary circumstances," Damia replied in a normal volume. "For instance, let's say that the Galicjans invade. Because I am not only an alchemist, but a Galicjan language speaker, I could get a transfer to the Galicjan boarder base until the conflict is resolved. But even if such an invasion occurred, just because my home base is here at East Central, most likely I wouldn't be moved at all."

Roy was confused. He uttered out how the procedure hardly made any sense.

Damia shrugged. "We're in the military. Nothing is supposed to make sense," she said matter-of-factly. A few silent moments later, she stopped in her tracks, put her hand on Roy's shoulder, and gestured for him to stand a little closer to her. "One more thing," she spoke, almost in a whisper. "Fuhrer Bradley only frequents the central bases … and he usually stays East Central."

"What does that mean?" he whispered.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "Start walking again toward the alchemy training areas." They started to move again and she added, "I'm relieved that everyone's been in their offices today because it's Monday. I feel much better having explained the system to you."

Roy smiled. It felt good and made him feel important to have been given such information. "Damia," he said. "Let's try not to snip at each other anymore."

She nodded. "I agree. You know, I think we need each other. This is why I'm very interested in doing alchemy with you. In all honesty, you're extremely talented for your age. I think over time we can come up with some great tag-team strategies."

"Yeah," he said and scratched his head. "But wouldn't I slow you down? You don't need me, not with what you can do."

Damia shook her head and laughed. "Are you nuts? Of course I need you! Sometimes it's very dry and I have less to work with. Even if I make electricity out of water molecules, I need that moisture to build off of. So, of course I need you, Roy! Think about it – we're both quite powerful on our own, but together, when we can balance out each others' weaknesses … just imagine what we could strive to be!"

A grin formed on Roy's face.

Fuhrer! He thought.

Instead of his true thoughts, he censored his goal to a word that could, or could not; imply the same degree of success, "Unbeatable!"

They had reached the entrance gate to the alchemy training area. "Not quite," Damia said as she took out a ring of keys and began fingering through them for the proper one. "I don't like thinking that anyone is immortal. It's too easy to set yourself up for failure that way. There's a fine line between confidence and conceit that has to be danced around. Everything in the world possesses mortality – you just have to find exactly where it is and hone in on that spot on your enemy. For yourself, you must be aware of your own weaknesses but use your strengths to out-power them. So, Roy, we can never be unbeatable." The corner of her mouth twisted into a satisfied, impish half-smile. "But formidable? Absolutely."

Her little lecture made sense to him and was quite practical. Surely, he would learn a lot from his new partner and he was glad to have those building blocks placed before him.

"Do you want to have lunch first, or do some alchemy?" Damia asked once she found the right key.

"Alchemy," Roy answered, smiling and already taking his gloves out of his pocket.

She opened the gate. "All right, let's go!" she said eagerly.

As they entered, Roy put on his gloves and looked ahead of him at the vast practicing area before him. How exciting it was to be there! After Damia locked the gate behind them, she led him toward an area to begin seeing what they both had to work with. This was going to be a very interesting, even fun week of training and Roy was eager not only to learn but to get to know Damia better. It occurred to him to perhaps ask her what she meant earlier in the day, comparing losing alchemy to losing an arm or a leg. He truly wanted to understand her with all of her quirks and odd way of laying out words.

Nah, not today, Roy thought. Some other time.


	12. Hidden Pain

After two days of productive training, mostly with alchemy, Damia decided it was time to begin introducing sword work. Roy found this to be relatively difficult and between the early fall temperatures and the thickness of his uniform jacket on his arms; he made the choice of shedding his top layer as they practiced. Damia did not know exactly what to say about that. Roy would have to be able to be efficient with sabers with his entire uniform on; however, if he took off his jacket there was the possibility of an easy opportunity to perform the pocket-watch switch. So, she remained silent, hoping that he kept his precious asset in his jacket like she saw him do on the other days. It was impossible not to know where Roy usually housed the pocket-watch. Occasionally during breaks he would take it out, hold it up to the sunlight, and admire it in a patriotic awe, much to Damia's annoyance.

That day in particular, Damia and Roy had brought their lunches with them. Since the day held gorgeous weather, they made the decision early in the morning to have a little picnic together during their lunch break time. After some more harsh fencing work, it was time for a much-deserved rest. Roy put down his sword and rubbed his right arm. He never expected sword training to be so physically taxing.

"We can do some alchemy when we finish today's work and pick up on this more tomorrow," Damia said. "I think the rest of our week will mainly consist of fencing." She paused. "It's a very important skill to be good at, not just in means of controlling a blade, but the other techniques you develop also include strength, agility, and combat strategy."

"I know," Roy said with a nod. "It's just really hard for me."

"You'll get there. But, here's some food for thought. The pain you feel in your body is nothing compared to what you'd feel if you got slashed up. It's a harsh truth."

Roy only responded with a "yeah". A brief moment of silence passed before he said that he'd be back after using the restroom. Damia told him that she'd begin setting up their lunch and he left.

Bingo, Damia thought. Now where's that damn watch?

Just as she had suspected and hoped, Roy's pocket-watch was inside his jacket. With a triumphant smile, Damia switched his real one with the counterfeit and used Water Alchemy to deactivate the real watch as she grasped it in her hand. She performed this by using the moisture around her to conduct electricity and zap the life out of the pocket-watch. After that, she secured it inside her own jacket and began setting up their picnic lunch like she said she would. When Roy returned, they began eating and started a conversation.

"So, um, what's your family like?" he asked. Because of his own circumstances with his family, he had not brought up such a topic during the days they had been together. But at the immediate moment, he was curious and the question just slipped past his lips.

"There's not much to say," Damia replied. She shrugged. "I'm very close to my brother. He's a year younger than me. My parents separated long ago." She wanted to get the subject off of her. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No," Roy said. "Only my cousin Rupert who's in jail." He quickly added, "He didn't kill anyone or anything. He was a con-man and eventually swindled the wrong person. Rupert wasn't as bad as Kimblee, though. Rupert only did things like tying me to a chair. Kimblee would push someone into a wall."

Damia just stared for a second. "So, you knew Kimblee for a long time?"

"We went to school together," he said with a bit of a sigh. "At least until high school. Then Kimblee became a ward of the state. Apparently, he taught himself alchemy and was becoming so dangerous that his parents couldn't handle him. At least that's what everyone in town said. I was surprised that he was at the Academy Summer Program but I suppose at eighteen he was given the choice of jail or the military."

"Wow," was all that she could say. The information was not all quite a shock after the way Alex Armstrong spoke about Zolf Kimblee, but simply hearing that one of the new State Alchemists was there under such circumstances was not the most uplifting thing to hear. "Well then, I'm glad Zolf isn't in my unit. I don't know, sometimes the surge of feeling like you're God when performing alchemy does drive some people over the edge of sanity."

Roy chuckled. "Alchemy did nothing. Kimblee was just psycho to begin with. He would have become dangerous with any means of power." He paused and continued with some degree of uncertainty. "Speaking of alchemy … Damia, can I ask you something? About something you said earlier this week?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"Well, I love alchemy. It's very important to me and has been a hobby for many years. But I'd never think of comparing it to my arm or leg. Remember when you said that losing alchemy was like losing a limb? Why did you say that? I mean, you made it sound like you almost couldn't survive without it."

Damia looked down at her hands, which were holding her sandwich, for a moment before looking back at Roy. His eyes were curious and soft, like he was truly interested in her thoughts and at the same time hoping that she found him enough of a friend to tell him.

Hmmm, She thought. Well, I suppose I should feel comfortable enough with someone to tell them a bit about myself. Why not him? His cousin's in jail, after all. I may not want to tell him everything, but …

"Damia?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry," she said as her thoughts ended. "I just needed to think of the best way to explain this." She scratched her head and continued casually, "I was … how can I say, bred for alchemy."

"Bred?"

"You see, I was born into a family of alchemists," Damia said. She then smiled with some degree of pride. "My mother's family had been alchemists for centuries. That's why I was able to learn Water Alchemy. Her parents did Water and Wind, so the technique got passed down and all. Anyway, my mother started teaching me alchemy when I was five and introduced Water when I was eight, so it's all been what my life was about. Everything was alchemy. I mean, you went to school as a kid, but me, I was with my mother being trained, taught, however you want to think of it." It then occurred to her that the information she just added may sound too suspicious. When she was growing up in the late 1600's there were not any public education systems in place but now children were expected to be educated, at least in a home-schooling environment. "Because my parents were alchemists, you know, scientists, healers; we kind of moved around a lot so going to a real school really wasn't practical."

I hope I covered that up all right, She thought.

"Oh, so that's why you lived in Galicja and Romana in the past!" Roy beamed. It finally made complete sense to him exactly how and why someone so young who apparently put in enough time in the military to manage being a Colonel could have lived in three countries. "I bet the education systems there are different than in Amestris, yeah?"

Damia nodded. "Uh-huh. Every country is different."

Thank you Galicja and Romana, She thought with a relieved triumph behind her calm veneer.

They chatted a little more before finishing their meal. Roy took the time to tell about learning Fire Alchemy with Mr. Hawkeye. The way he described Riza's father made Damia see why Riza had such a serious disposition. He did not make it seem that Mr. Hawkeye was one of those alchemists who saw their talent as an extension of themselves, and definitely not an alchemist who lost their sanity to obsession. However, the picture Roy painted was that of a man who possessed an attitude similar to Dante's: a person who chose, for whatever their reason, to have their life revolve around alchemy and round their own goals and motives that the esteemed science may serve as the solution to. Because of that image in her head, Damia could immediately connect Riza's seriousness and formality to her own attitude growing up. She, being a different person, displayed that kind of ambition by expanding on what she could do with Water Alchemy, eventually succeeding in performing without her transmutation circle-wielding gloves. But if Riza's goals were connected to the military, her demeanor all made sense.

"I'm just wondering, did you know Riza well?" Damia asked.

Roy casually shrugged one shoulder. "No, I didn't see her all that much and I only wanted to pay attention to what Mr. Hawkeye was teaching me. What he showed me was pretty advanced and I wanted to do it right. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed – really overwhelmed – but it was worth it. Alchemy gave me something that was mine. I needed that."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she said. They were completely finished cleaning up after their meal by now. "I think we'll do some shooting work and then the last hour do alchemy kind of to wind down and all."

A quick question escaped Roy's lips as he walked with Damia toward the target shooting practicing area. He noticed that he was beginning to lose the split-second consideration of censoring what he said to his partner. "Why don't you like guns?"

"It's not that I dislike guns, it's that –"

Boom. Bam-bam boom.

Boom. Bam-bam boom.

The memory of loud and formidable drum beats striking by her head echoed throughout her mind. Accompanying that came the remembering of the painful metal cuffs ruthlessly forced on her wrists as her hands were roughly secured behind her back, twisted in such an unnatural way that she could not use alchemy to save herself.

"It's something personal," Damia said. "Maybe sometime I'll tell you."

"Okay," Roy said. He felt a little bad about asking. The way Damia reacted made him suspect that perhaps a person dear to her was shot and killed, and not necessarily during some sort of military work. It was like why he had a fear of trains after his parents both died in a derailment when he was small. Just like he could not go through his life allowing the discomfort he felt on trains to rule over him, Damia obviously could not succumb to whatever bothered her about guns. However, Roy did try to avoid trains if possible, and if he had no choice but to board one he had to do something to calm himself. When he was a child, he would doodle to clear his mind. Now that he was eighteen, he would take advantage of having a shot of cherry schnapps.

He stopped thinking so much about it once they reached the target shooting area.

Before ending the walk of silence by beginning to instruct Roy on how this part of training would commence, Damia sadly thought of the red mark plaguing the back of her neck. This mark, a symbol representing the period of time between life and death called Judgment, was the mark of a Homunculus. Whenever a successful transmutation of resurrection was performed, this symbol would appear on the part of the body where the once-human Homunculus lost their life. For Damia, since she perished due to a decapitation execution, the mark appeared on her nape.

Sometimes I wish I could tell someone what happened to me, She thought as she began to unlock the shooting area.

"It's okay. Trisha knows and understands. She doesn't think of us as monsters. It doesn't bother her."

Hoenheim Elric's voice played through her memory. Those words were one of the last things he said to Damia and Bernard before the two of them angrily left their father and home in Resembool.

No, Dad, Damia thought. You're still wrong. We are Homunculi. We still live in a different realm than the mortals do. You're not the same as Trisha and I'm not the same as Roy. As much as I want to be, I'm not one of them … and I can't be, not until I become human.


	13. Confession

Neither Damia nor Roy ever would have thought that the reason they were out together on a Saturday night was because of passing by Zolf Kimblee in a hallway earlier that week. On a December afternoon, the two had been returning to the base after doing a minor investigation in the city to come across Kimblee. Since he was not currently under the supervision of Basque Grand, he took the opportunity to utter out a suave taunt of "Hello there, Balloon-head" as he passed.

Even though Damia said nothing in reference to the comment, an embarrassed, pink-faced Roy had put his face in his palm, shaking his head as he said, "You didn't hear that, okay?"

To that, Damia saw an opportunity to enforce an oath of silence, an equivalent exchange of the safety of one person's secret for the others. She asked him if it was true that he would not want anyone to know about the little name Kimblee had for him, to which Roy quietly blurted out a desperate "no".

"Since I now know something you don't want let out, can I trust you to know a secret of mine?" Damia had asked. To Roy's nod, she added, "This weekend let's meet up someplace secure, off of this damn base of course. I wonder where we could go where we'd be sure of privacy …"

"My aunt Chris owns a bar. I told you about her," he had suggested. "I'm sure she can let us in one of the couple private gambling rooms she has."

So, that was how the plan was made and why on a Saturday night a couple of weeks before the holidays that Damia met Roy at the given address. Damia, dressed in a red long-sleeved shirt and worn jeans under her parka, was surprised to see inside that Roy sported all parts of a three-piece suit besides the jacket.

"You didn't tell me there was a dress code," she said. When she saw a skimpy-dressed brunette walking off with a sleazy, semi-drunk man in the background, she muttered to herself, "I don't see how there could be with that around."

Roy was at a loss for words. The attire he was wearing was simply what he tended to sport. Perhaps he would not have put on the tie on every occasion, but the slacks, sport shirt, and vest were all usual.

"Um, no, no there's no dress code," he said. "I just –" He let out a slightly anxious chuckle and said lightheartedly, "Y'know, I thought I should wear something kind of nice since I'm having dinner with my superior!"

Maybe the vest and tie were too much, He thought. I look as I do and Damia looks like some northern mobster. What a pair we make.

"Oh, well that's very kind and respectful of you," she said with a warm smile. "You look really nice, Roy." She paused for a moment, looked down at her ratty jeans and beat-up boots and added, "Sorry that I look like this. I can't afford much."

In all truth, Damia could not really afford to buy any nice clothing since she needed to put money aside in case of an emergency that she and Bernard would have to hide out in Galicja. After all, if she needed formal wear, she had her military uniform. The idea of having nice clothes, or even a separate wardrobe, never really occurred to either sibling, since they had grown up together using the same set of clothing. Bernard, despite being a male, was not built all that much broader than his sister. The routine was perfect, especially since Damia preferred her clothes to be looser fitting and Bernard liked them a bit snugger.

"That's okay," Roy said with a soft smile. "I like it. That color red matches well with your –"

"So, Roy-Boy, is this your friend? Colleague?" a woman's voice attached to an overweight brunette interrupted. The woman, slightly gruff-looking with a cigarette housed hanging out of the corner of her mouth, approached and placed a hand on Roy's shoulder.

"Yeah, Aunt Chris, this is Colonel Elric," he replied. He looked at Damia. "What would you say we are? Friends or colleagues?"

"I guess you could say we're both," she said.

Chris Mustang eyed Damia for a moment before speaking with a bit of a scowl, "You're Galicjan, aren't you. I know how to spot one of your kind. The espionage novels never fail. The difference is slight from many Amestrians, but it's all in the cheekbones and the eyes."

Oh no, not the espionage novels, Roy thought. He wanted to hit his palm to his face.

"My mother was Galicjan, ma'am, and I –"

"I prefer 'Madame'," Roy's aunt interrupted with a puff of tobacco smoke leaving her mouth as she spoke. She slowly waved a finger at Damia. "Don't think I don't know about your little plot of taking the northeast corner of Amestris back one block at a time …"

"Aunt Chris, please!" Roy said. "Can you just show the Colonel and I to one of the open gambling rooms in the back like you said you would?"

Chris Mustang sighed. "So let it be, if you insist. I just worry about you, Roy-Boy." She directed her speech to both of them to say "Follow me" before leading them to a closed door at the back of the bar. She unlocked the door and swung it open. Roy entered, followed by a silent Damia who gave a nod of recognition to Chris to represent a "thank you". When the two disappeared into the room, Chris shut the door behind them and walked away.

Roy flipped on the light-switch to illuminate a good-sized room. In the center was a poker table with the necessary amount of game chips, accompanied by a small bowl of apples, a basket of breadsticks, and water pitcher with two glasses. On one of the walls was a medium-sized window where at this time in the evening only showed a dark grey color. Whether that color was the evening sky outdoors or simply the wall of another building, one could not really know.

As he began to separate the poker chips into two equal groups, Roy said, "I apologize for my aunt's attitude. I told you about how my parents died, right? She's convinced that a Galicjan impersonated the train conductor to deliberately cause the derailment, even though the police reports claimed all in charge were Amestrian."

"That's okay," she said. "To be honest, I'm used to it by now. Your aunt's far from the first to throw the Galicjan card at me." She began to pace around the room, looking behind various storage cabinets and around a stack of unused spare chairs.

"What are you doing?" Roy asked.

"I swear someone could be passed out drunk in here somewhere," she replied casually.

This made Roy laugh. She did look silly peering around things and going over to the window and trying to tell if she could see a body lying in the street or alleyway. Once he was finished separating the poker chips, he told Damia to take a seat. She did so, sitting across from him. A quick spark of delight perked up her eyes when she noticed the bowl of apples.

Smiling, Roy said, "I knew you'd like those. You're always walking into the office with an apple." He paused as Damia took a bite out of one of the apples. "So anyway, this is what I was thinking. How about we play a little game here? We each tell something about ourselves and toss in the amount of chips we see as the information's worth. Does that sound good?"

Damia nodded as she was chewing.

"After you," he said with a chivalrous hand gesture. "Since you're the lady."

The corner of Damia's mouth twisted ever so slightly into a smirk for a moment before returning to its normal position. "As the lady, I chose to pass. You go."

"All right," Roy said. He was not expecting to be going first, even when he perused the idea of the little poker chip game in his head. He pushed four chips to the center of the table. "I'm afraid of spiders."

Damia picked up one of her chips and put it in the center. "I want to know more about this balloon-head thing. Where did it come from and why did it bother you so much?"

That's not giving a fact about yourself, Roy thought. What's she doing?

He quietly sighed to himself before pushing in a good amount of his chips and answering, "It was a long time ago, even before my parents died. I was in first grade and we were having a class party. I can't even remember for what. But my teacher told me to blow up some balloons. I didn't want to but I did it, you know, because I was told to. My parents always told me to follow directions, be good at school and all of that. Being their only child, I didn't want to let them down." He took a breath. "So, I was blowing the balloons and Kimblee, being Kimblee, decided to come over and start popping what I had done. I told him to stop, that I didn't want to do the job and wanted to get it over-with but that I had to because our teacher told me to. Well, I –" He paused and blushed a little. "I always had a baby-face, especially when I was a kid. Kimblee never really did. So, he started saying 'Aww, wittle baby Woy's gonna do what he was told. Wittle baby-face is gonna bwow his bawoons' until our teacher finally gave him something to do so he couldn't keep popping everything in sight. Anyway, this 'balloon-head', 'baby-face' thing just never went away. When we were all about twelve, the girls at school all thought Kimblee was cute and he liked to make fun of me to make them laugh … let's just say it wasn't a good time for me. And by that time, I had to come home to Rupert."

Damia did not quite know how to respond to that. She and Bernard never experienced bullying like that when they were young. Instead, they actually were relatively sheltered and never met many kids. All she could remember was befriending Gerhardt Armstrong when they lived next to the Armstrong estate and occasionally playing ball with some random kids at the park in town. After a short chance to think of her next question, Damia took two of her chips and placed them in the center.

"Why did you decide to join the military?"

Is she ever going to make a statement? Roy asked himself.

"Entre-nous, I want to become Fuhrer someday," he replied after sliding in some chips. He was getting low on his amount after what had been for him two pretty personal confessions. "I may say that I want to protect Amestris, which isn't all a lie as I love my country. But my goals are much deeper than that. Alchemy has given me power and confidence, and I strive to use that to make the most I possibly can out of the life I was given."

With a smile, Damia nodded and said, "Good answer. I like it." She put in five chips before continuing, "My final question. Why should I trust you with the rest of my stack?"

Roy slid the remainder of his chips to the center. He looked into Damia's eyes with all sincerity as he spoke.

"Because I have nothing," he said. "Sure, I have my aunt. Sure, I have alchemy. Sure, I have my goals, but they all come with a price. I'm indebted to my aunt. She didn't have to take me in after my parents died and even though she never said so, I know that part of the reason she's been so kind is because she expects me to help her out when she gets old. Which I will. I owe her and I know she can't rely on Rupert."

"Because he's in jail," Damia said.

Her comment made Roy smile. "Yeah," he said. "Anyway, the price I have to pay for alchemy is a promise I made to Mr. Hawkeye. He asked me, as payment for his teaching, to look after and protect Riza." To Damia's soft laugh, he added, "I know. I don't think she needs it either but it's still a promise and I take those things seriously. My parents told me never to make a promise I couldn't keep, so that's how I am. Whenever I pledge something like that, I do it for them." He paused and took a breath. "So, Damia, in many ways I have nothing to lose. And – and I really do like you and have respect for you, both as a person and as a soldier. I'm glad to have found a friend in you and I hope that in the time we have spent together that you can say the same about me."

Damia's lips twisted into a soft smile. The two looked into each other's eyes for a moment before she looked down at her poker chips and pushed all but two into the center of the table.

"Roy," she said, still looking at the chips. She then shifted her gaze to him. "Roy, do you know what a Homunculus is?"

He appeared like he may have heard the term but was trying to remember exactly what it was and where he was introduced to it.

"I'm not sure," Roy replied. "Can you tell me?"

Damia picked up an apple and took a bite before continuing, "Being an alchemist, I assume you're aware of the Resurrection Transmutation."

"Yes," he said, puzzled at Damia's inquiries. "From what I was told, it's impossible. Mr. Hawkeye told me that anyone who tried the Resurrection Transmutation died. The process requires so much energy that the alchemist loses their soul and expends their entire being into the attempt to revive the dead." He paused for a second. "But that's just what I was told."

"Huh," she said casually. "Sort of like a monk who meditates to such an intense level that they stop their own heart …"

"Um, I suppose," Roy said awkwardly. He took a couple of poppy seed breadsticks for himself. "Both require so much energy that you blow out your fuse."

A light chuckle escaped Damia's lips. "I don't think all those monks die, Roy. If that were so, no one could exist to tell the tale of achieving nirvana. Granted, I'm sure many lied about their epiphany, but I don't think they all did. You know, Roy, so much that we have been told about science has proven itself false. Long ago, man believed that the earth was flat. Did you know that people once thought that dinosaurs could live on Venus?"

"That's impossible!" Roy exclaimed. "It's too close to the sun – that's absurd!"

She casually wrapped her two apple cores up in a napkin and continued matter-of-factly, "That's just because of how science has evolved over time that you would find it absurd. Anyway, I think what Mr. Hawkeye told you about the Resurrection Transmutation is like dinosaurs on Venus. My mother preformed it three times. That's why my father, brother, and I are still here."

Roy was silent. He finished a breadstick as he looked at her with a befuddled expression.

"I mean we all died and my mother brought us back," Damia said. To Roy's continuing silence, only accompanied by his taking a sip of water and nodding as he asked himself if his ears deceived him, she added with a smile, "I smell bathtub gin. How is it? Wanna get a couple drinks?"

Roy leaned back in his chair and waved his hand in front of him. "No, no, no," he said calmly, yet with curiosity in his tone. "Maybe tonight I'll have a drink before bed but right now, I want to hear about this."

"Next year in March," Damia began. "Technically I'll be 215 years old. In October of 1917, my body will age one more year and physically I'll turn twenty-five. My brother Bernard and I died when I was seventeen, and shortly after, my mother and father found us and performed the Resurrection Transmutation. That day, we became Homunculi."

"Homunculi," Roy said. "You asked me earlier if I knew what a Homunculus was. I heard the term before but I'm not quite sure what it means. I think it's a sort of theory or myth related to resurrection."

"A theory that became a myth," she corrected. "I don't know exactly how it came about but obviously you get people talking about the concept of reviving the dead and from that you get alchemists experimenting and eventually coming across the right combination of energy concentration and transmutation circle. I assume that on rare occasions that some alchemists, like my mother, must have been successful in their attempts but the number of those who fatally failed must have made the whole practice a feared taboo. But I don't know for sure." She let out a soft laugh. "All of this is centuries before my time. Anyway, to get to the point, a Homunculus is the product of a Resurrection Transmutation. But no resurrection has ever been completely successful as a Homunculus isn't exactly human. Well, they're human but they're trapped in suspended animation at the age they were when they died." Damia's eyes softened ever so slightly, hiding a deep-seeded sadness that she did not want to escape her. "In that case, every Homunculus is immortal."

Roy nodded. "Yeah, after you explained it all I think I do recall something about Homunculi and immortality. So Damia, you can't die?"

She took a sip of water. "I can't die, per say," she replied. "It's very complicated. I don't think this information is in the Homunculus myth, but there is a way to destroy someone like me. My mother called it 'vanishment'. You have to disconnect the soul and body. Technically, a Homunculus' body is immortal, but if the soul, the energy of life, is unable to be attached, there is nothing fueling the body. Hence, it can then be destroyed."

Surprisingly, Roy was not completely befuddled by the amount of information suddenly thrust upon him. Because he had always doubted that the Transmutation of Resurrection was impossible, all that he was learning that evening was comforting and interesting at the same time. It made him feel like he was not illogical for always thinking that resurrection could maybe be possible, since the ideas and so-called 'facts' on the subject could not completely have been pulled out of thin air.

"If your body is immortal, then how are you aging?" Roy asked curiously. "You said you were seventeen when you died but that in a couple years your body will be twenty-five." Before Damia could answer, he added with a sincere interest, "How did you die, anyway?"

"Both of your questions require a lot of explanation," Damia said. She smiled with a tad of impishness. "I don't want to keep you all night and I think I only had enough chips to answer one of those questions. But, we can play this game some other time and I'll tell you more. So what is it Roy? My ability to somehow age or how I died?"

After the influx of information concerning Homunculi, he decided that the simpler question would probably be best suited for that night. Not only that, but Roy was truly interested and concerned toward how his partner could have met such an early demise.

"I want to know how you died," he said.

Damia took another sip of water before answering, "I died in the city of Xerxes."

"You mean the city that fell into the ground?" Roy asked quickly.

"Yeah," she said, hoping that she could, at this point in time, avoid having to confess that her mother was responsible for the annihilation of Xerxes.

"I heard that an explosion in the earth's core sucked the city away and came up as a volcano on the other side of the world!" he exclaimed.

Hmm, I guess when you haven't been alive for over two hundred years that any little phenomenon would excite you, Damia thought before telling him that she did not know exactly how Xerxes disappeared but that she heard the same explosion theory and that it made sense to her.

"So, how did you die?" Roy asked. "You must have died in Xerxes before the explosion."

Very casually and matter-of-factly, she replied, "I got my head cut off." To Roy's wide-eyed, shocked expression, she added, "Not buy a guillotine, but by an axe. You know – the old 'center of the town execution' style. My brother and I were both executed by decapitation."

"But why?" he asked. The sympathy he felt for Damia's death was very obvious in his tone of voice. The situation affected him so much not only because of how she died, but how old she and her brother were. He began to munch on another breadstick.

They were only my age – younger, actually – to have died so mercilessly, Roy thought.

"My parents both did healing using alchemy and they both could do it without transmutation circles," Damia explained. "It's quite simple, actually, when you think about it. All you need is a rival healer in the city who may have lost work to my parents to start stirring up witch stores. Well, the rumors get around to a certain point and you get secret coalitions, I suppose. Bernard and I were just in the wrong part of town at the wrong time for this group of psychos to take the perfect opportunity to 'get the Elric kids'." She paused. "At least that's what we all could figure out, since there were other healers in Xerxes before we showed up … and those words – 'get the Elric kids' – were used when Bernard and I were seized. We were seized by a mob, had our arms twisted behind us in such a way that we couldn't use alchemy; and …" she stopped for a second. "And heads cut off. Just like that. My parents must not have been too far since we were resurrected successfully. Since our bodies were not all in one piece, the time between death and resurrection would have been extremely crucial. But it worked. Bernard and I had flu-like symptoms for a few days after but after that it was like nothing ever happened. At least physically. Unfortunately, the memories of the execution remained."

Roy was silent. He did not know what to say. He simply looked at Damia with eyes showing the emotion of 'I'm sorry'.

"You don't believe me," Damia said to his lack of response. She let out a soft, under-the-breath sigh. "Not that I blame you."

"No … no I believe you," Roy said with a solemn seriousness. "It's just – I don't know what to say except that I'm sorry that happened to you. But I believe you. I mean, the work we're doing together can be really dangerous and honesty between the two of us is critical. You'd be a fool to lie about something like that." He smiled and his tone lightened. "Now Rupert – he'd use a story like that to pull a real nice extortion con. But you're no Rupert. Trust me. I know a con-man when I see one."

His comment made her laugh.

"Just one more question about this if you don't mind, Damia," he said. "Then I say we call it a night."

"Sure,"

"How did your father die? From what you said he obviously wasn't killed at Xerxes."

Damia nodded. "No, he died years before my brother and I did. He was hit by a carriage." She paused. "I know; it's such a useless and pathetic way to go. I think I was only three years old when it happened so I don't remember anything about it."

Roy sighed and spoke, almost to himself, "It never changes. People died like my parents did long before there were trains." He shook his head. "The mortality of man is amazing … and amazing in such a way that it turns your stomach …"

A beat of silence passed where neither person knew what to say. Roy was now looking down at the card table in through as Damia tried of how to transition the conversation from the morbid speech. After what she had just confessed, she really did not want to continue talking about death and mortality.

"Well, Roy," she began. "It looks like we're even here. Seems to me that we've got ourselves a draw."

Roy looked up. Damia stood up and began to straighten out their used poker chips. A few beats of silence passed before he stood himself and started to assist her.

"Yeah, I say so," he said.

Death, or the concept of it, is just another word to Damia, He thought. I guess that's two hundred years of living with her burden. But there's something to learn from that: that you have to move on no matter what happens to you.

"Have you ever tried bathtub gin?" Roy asked.

With a chuckle, she replied, "I lived by breweries in Galicja for one hundred years, so I've tried everything once. Can't say I'm the biggest fan of gin, bathtub or not, but it's a hell of a lot better than wine, I'll tell you."

Roy smiled. Damia's ability to oddly twist some humor into everyday statements appealed to him and at the same time gave him a slight perk-up when he needed it most. "How about we try some bathtub gin before we head home?" he asked. "It's really not all that bad when my aunt uses the lavender oil to clean the tub. The orange blossom – eh, not the best choice – but the lavender is pretty nice."

Damia laughed. "Sure, why not?" She put her arm around Roy's shoulder for a couple seconds and added, "Another game sometime?"

He nodded. "After the holidays?"

"Sounds like a plan,"

As the two of them left the gambling room into the bar, it all began to sink into Damia's head that she had, for the first time in nearly two centuries and in her life, confessed to someone that she was a Homunculus. To her surprise, she felt no guilt about her decision and instead, found relief and elation in the fact that she found someone she could trust. It was uplifting, almost providing a surge of hope for the future, that finally she actually has a sort-of confidant besides Bernard.

As she toasted with Roy, her father once again popped into her thoughts, just like when she had pondered confessing what she was at the shooting range a couple months ago.

Is this what you felt, Dad? Damia asked herself as she took a sip of gin. Were you relieved, too?

Her questions merited no answer, but at this point it did not matter to Damia. She had a true friend and colleague in Roy and that was the only thing she needed that night. Besides, Roy was right –

The bathtub gin was delicious.


End file.
